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Illustrated Magazine 

For Young Folks 



Part I., November, 1SS3, to April, 1884. 



Copyright, 1884, by The Century Co. 

Press of Theo. L. De Vinne & Co. 

Library, Univ. mi 

North ' '*'" i '«""< 




Six Months — November, 1883, to April, 1884. 



Agassiz Association 77 

260, 341, 421, 502 
Almion, Auria, and Mona. (Illustrated byG. F. Barnes and R. B. Birch) Julian Hawthorne . . ... 83, 232 

Alphabet Menagerie Jingles. ( Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Isabel Frances Bellows 3S2 

"A Miss is as Good as a Mile." Verse. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch). . M. M. D 113 

Among the Mustangs. (Illustrated by E. Sanguinetti) JVoah Brook: 347 

Among the Pines. A Play Ruth Ogden 58 

Art and Artists. Stories of (Illustrated) Clara Erskine Clement 277 

Ballad of Good Sir Urgan. The Poem. (Illustrated by Alfred Kappes) .£. Vinton Blake 224 

Bee-man and his Original Form. The (Illustrated by E. B. Bensell) . . .Frank R. Stockton 46 

Benevolent Birds. (Illustrated by J. M. Nugent) Will Hood/nan 9 

Birds at Monkstown Castle. The Poem. (Illustrated) Mrs. S. M. B. Piatt 105 

Bird-talk. Poem. (Illustrated) Celia Tkaxter 452 

Blown Out to Sea. (Illustrated by James C. Beard) C. F. Holder 360 

Brownies' Balloon. The Verses. (Illustrated by the Author). Palmer Cox 396 

Brownies on Skates. The Verses. ( Illustrated by the Author) Palmer Cox . 306 

Captain Mayne Reid. (Illustrated) J. T. Trowbridge 33 

Cat's Cradle. Verses. (Illustrated by Mary Hallock Foote) 1/. M. D - 96 

Children's Christmas Club. The (Illustrated by W. Taber) Ella S. Sargent 174 

Christina Churning. Poem Dora Read Goodale [83 

Christmas. Verses. (Illustrated) Bessie Hill 112 

Christmas in the Pink Boarding-house. (Illustrated by T. Moran and \ 

H. Sandham) tll.H . 1S7 

Circus Extraordinary. Picture 24 

Coast-guard. The Poem. (Illustrated by M. J. Burns) Emily Huntington Miller 370 

Coasting Brigade. Our Picture, drawn by Rose Mueller 276 

Cricket's Violin. The Poem Laura F. Hinsdale 324 

Dick's Straw-ride. Jingle. (Illustrated by the Author) Caroline Hansell 246 

Doctor Sophia Edith's Office Girl. (Illustrated by Jessie Curtis Shepherd) Henry Lewis 365 

Drifting. Poem. (Illustrated by Will H. Low) E. Vinton Blake 274 

Duel in a Desert. A (Illustrated by E. B. Bensell) Tudor Jenks 100 

DiTRER. Albert (Illustrated) Clara Erskine Clement 277 

Edouard Frere and his Child Pictures. (Illustrated) Mrs. Lizzie TV. Cliampney. 125 

Eli's Education. (Illustrated by W. H. Drake) Louisa M. Alcotl 352 

~ Engraver on Wheels. An (Illustrated by W. H. Drake) IV. Lewis Erase'- 320 

"j Fairy Lodge. (Illustrated by the Author) Mary A. Latkbury 42S 

<p Fairy's Order. A Poem V. F. Butts . 1S3 

«"" Fare in a Street Car. (Illustrated by J. E. Kelly) Charles Dudley Warner. 152 


Miss Strettell 158 


First Steps. Poem. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) Elizabeth C. Kinney 478 

Flower-angel. The Poem. (Illustrated by Laura E. Hills). Translated \ 

from the German by ' 

Flowers of Winter. Poem Emilie Ponlsson 287 

Frere. Edouard His Child Pictures. (Illustrated) Mrs. Lizzie IF. Champncy . . 125 

Fun-beams. (Illustrated by Frank T. Merrill) Rose Hawthorne Lalhmp . . . 226 

Gentleman from China. The (Illustrated by W. T. Smedley) Sophie Swett 38 

Getting Acquainted. Picture, drawn by H. P. Share 53 

Giovanni of Florence. The Boy Cardinal. (Illustrated by J. Steeple \ 

. E. S. Brooks 406 

Davis) > 

GlRL-NOBLESSE. A Repeat OF HISTORY. (Illustrated by W. H. Drake ) 

r -v c- ji n ( Mrs.A.D. T. Whitney ..388, 453 

and Mrs. C. F. Siedle) S 

Gnu Bahv. The Picture, drawn by " Chip " 468 

Grandma's Angel. Poem. (Illustrated by Rose Mueller) Sydney Dayre 460 

Grandma's Story. (Illustrated by Ellen Oakford) Louisa M. Aleott 209 

Griselda's New Year's Reception. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott). . . .Margaret Sidney 291 

Harry of Monmouth. The Boy General. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) ....£. S. Brooks 469 

Her Name. Verse Mrs. L. I'. Wheeler 395 

Hero of Lexington. A Poem IF. IF. Fink 427 

Historic Boys. (Illustrated) E. S. Brooks 325, 406, 469 

Marcus of Rome : the Boy Magistrate 325 

Giovanni of Florence : the Boy Cardinal 406 

Harry of Monmouth : the Boy General 469 

Hoop Song. Verses. (Illustrated by Rose Mueller) Ban- Hill 489 

How Bright Benson Got his Appointment to the Naval Academy. ) „ „ 

,„, . . j 1. a, t t> i Rev. C- R- Talbot 432 

( Illustrated by M. J. Burns) S ° 

How Sir Athol Came to his Kingdom. Poem. (Illustrated by George > 

,-. „ ' b \ E. Fin/on Blake 120 

I' . Barnes) S 

How the Robin Came. Poem John G. IVhittier 81 

In THE Park. Verses Bessie Chandler 222 

Jake's Mistake. Jingle. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) John S. Adams 12 

Jericho Roses. (Illustrated by the Author) John A'. Tait 222 

Jincles 12,119,240,246,319,359,382 

Lamp-lighter. The Poem. (Illustrated by the Author). Mary A. Lathbury 45 . 

Land of Fire. The (Illustrated by Henry Sandham) Mayne A'eid 160 

246,309, 371,461 

Little Girl who Would n't say "O." The Verse. (Illustrated by j 

the Author) ■ ' 

Little Lord of the Manor. The E. S. Brooks 3 

Little Maud's Story. Verses. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) M. A/. Gow 32 

LITTLE Stone Boy. The Poem. (Illustrated by W. L. Taylor) Sydney Dayre 134 

Lucy Lee from High Dundee. Verses. (Illustrated by the Author) 4. Brennan 208 

Lullaby. A Verse. (Illustrated by Mary A. Lathbury) 95 

Magic Buttons. Poem Emma C. Dmod . 488 

Magnie's Dangerous Ride. (Illustrated by H. Sandham) Hjalmar H. Boycsen 97, 204 

Marcus of Rome. The Boy Magistrate. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch and ) 

n v B , B ' > E. S. Brooks 325 

G. F. Barnes) \ J J 

Meditation. Picture, drawn by " Chip " 45 1 

Miniature Landscapes. Pigmy Trees and (Illustrated by T. C. Beard and } 

T tut AT t . ' " > John A'. Coryell 304 

J. M. Isugent) \ ■ J T 

Modern Artist. A Verses. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) Margaret Johnson 441 

New Jack and Jill. A Verses. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) Margaret Johnson 23S 

Nine Years Old. Poem. (Illustrated by George F. Barnes) Oliver Johnson 333 

"Noon, Noon ! " Jingle. (Illustrated by G. F. Barnes) Frederic Palmer 493 

Not Fear. Jingle. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) John S. Adams 319 

Nutting-time. Poem //. / 3S 

Oak and the Mushroom. The A Fable Joel Benton 200 

Mary A. Lathbury 359 



Onawandah. (Illustrated by G. R. Halm and H. F. Farny) Louisa M. Alcotl 442 

Origin of the Stars and Stripes. The (Illustrated) Edward II'. Tuffiey 66 

Our Coasting Brigade. Picture, drawn by Rose Mueller 276 

Our Skating Brigade. Verse. (Illustrated by Rose Mueller) Mary Lii Salic Wing 119 

Our Snow-balling Brigade. Picture, drawn by Rose Mueller 201 

Our Soap-buuble Party. (Illustrated by George F. Barnes) George B. Bartlett 216 

Papa's Little Man. Picture, drawn by D. C. Peters 65 

Phaeton. Poem. (Illustrated by George F. Barnes) C. P. Cranch 288 

Pictures 24, 37, 53, 65, 201, 204, 245, 276, 369, 451, 46S 

Pigmy Trees and Miniature Landscapes. (Illustrated by J. C. Beard and > 

. „ „ ', I Jehu R. Cornell 304 

J.M.Nugent) S 

Plaything of an Empress. The (Illustrated by R. Blum) //. Maria George 44S 

Prince Hassak's March. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Frank R. Stockton 141 

Prince of Naples and his Palace. The (Illustrated) Olive May Eager 103 

Prize Drawings 497 

Reid. Captain Mayne ( Illustrated) J. T. Trowbridge 33 

Rhyme for Twelfth. The (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Frank M. Bicknell 88 

Rolly's Ragamuffin. (Illustrated by Rose Mueller) Lucy G. Morse 54 

St. Nicholas Almanac. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch and Jessie McDermott). .Royal and Ban- Hill . . .255, 334 

416, 494 

Santa Claus and the Mouse. Verses. (Illustrated by Mrs. C. Siedle) Emilie Poulsson 236 

Skating Brigade. Our Verse. (Illustrated by Rose Mueller) Mary La Salle Wing 119 

Small Person of Pah. A Jingle. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) F. E. Hamilton. 240 

Snow-balling Brigade, Our Picture, drawn by Rose Mueller 201 

Snow Shoes and No Shoes. (Illustrated by Daniel C. Beard) John R. Coryell 29 

Soap-bubble Party. Our (Illustrated by George F. Barnes) George B. Bartlett 216 

Sophie's Secret. (Illustrated by Mrs. C. Siedle) Louisa M. Alcott 25, 1 14 

Spinning-wheel Stories. (Illustrated) Louisa M. Alcott 209 

267, 352, 442 

Grandma's Story 209 

Tabby's Table-cloth 267 

Eli's Education 352 

Onawandah /\^-> 

Squirrel, a Bird, and a Boy. A Verses John Vance Cheney 183 

Star in the East. The Picture, drawn by John La Farge 245 

Stars and Stripes. The Origin of the ( Illustrated) Edward W. Tuffley 66 

Stories of Art and Artists. (Illustrated) Clara Erskine Clement .... 277 

Submarine Fire-eater. A (Illustrated by J. M. Nugent). John R. Coryell 13S 

Tabby's Table-cloth. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) Louisa M. Alcott 267 

" Taking Turns." Picture, drawn by Caroline Hansell 204 

Tales of Two Continents. (Illustrated) Hjalmar H. Boycsen . , . .97, 204 

Magnie's Dangerous Ride. (Illustrated) 97, 204 

Thanksgiving Dinner that Flew Away. A //. Buttcnoorth 13 

Thanksgiving Morning at Grandpapa's. Picture, drawn by G. W. Edwards 37 

Three Somber Young Gentlemen and the Three Pretty Girls. The , 

A Play. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) \ 

To My Valentine, Aged One. Verses R. T. . . 275 

To Our Readers 1 S4 

Tsang Tsan and the Man-Eater. (Illustrated by J. C. Beard) Tohn R. Coryell 490 

Twelve Little Brothers. The Verses. (Illustrated by A. Brennan) Yellie G. Cone 202 

Two Men of Cologne. The Verses. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) ... Emma C. Dowd 16 

Two Pussies. The Verses. (Illustrated by H. P. Share) .Phil. Robinson 151 

Weary Page. The Picture 369 

Wee Mother Hubbard. Verses. (Illustrated by the Author") I. Brennan 179 

Well-read Hunter. The Verses. (Illustrated by " Boz ") loci Stacy 136 

When Spring Began. Poem E. J. Wheeler 495 

Whose Scissors Did It ? Verses Bessie Chandler 560 

E. S. Brooks 16S 



Wind-flower. The Poem Lucy Larcom 412 

Winter Fun. (Illustrated by J. W. Bolles and T. Thulstrup) William O. Stoddard 19 

241, 298, 399, 479 

Wisdom in the Welt. Verses Phil 0' Gc/os ■'. 29 

Wong Ning's Ideas. (Illustrated) 412 

Work and Play for Young Folk. ^Illustrated) 1S2, 487 

Deacon Green's Offer 182 

Young Seamstress. A Verses. (Illustrated by P. Caminoni) Mary L. B. Branch 23 


Jack-in-the-Pulpit (Illustrated). 

Introduction — Falling Stars — A Beautiful Flower — Good Mother Woodcock (illustrated) — A Dog who 
Tried the Telephone — Postponed, 74; Introduction — Coasting on Bare Ground — A Shell for Young 
Conchologists to Open — A Very Wordy Poem — Three Black Crows — Three Cents for a Life (illustrated) — 
A Sad Pair of Stockings — A Royal Detective — The Children's Christmas Club, 25S ; Introduction — " Silver 
Bells and Cockle Shells" — A Car with a Sail — A Deep Conundrum — Not So Bad, After All — Swimming 
Home — More About the Ermine — A Beautiful Window Decoration (illustrated) — A Church Built of Paper — 
The Compass Plant, 338; Introduction — Wet Meteors — How Do You Spell It? — Heavy Bankers — A 
Sound Sleeper (illustrated) — Florida Boys, Please Answer — A Big Piece of Work for Bees — Announcement, 
418 ; An April Story — The Ages of Animals — More About Jericho Roses — A Lucky April Fool — A Clergy- 
man's Opinion of Horses — The Prize Drawings — A Letter FrOm Deacon Green (illustrated), 496. 

For Very Little Folk (Illustrated). 

Willie and Rosa, 72 — Going to Sleep, 254 — Two Pussies; My Dolls, 336 — Peanuts, 414. 

Plays (Illustrated). 

Among the Pines Ruth Ogden .... 58 

The Three Somber Young Gentlemen and the Three Pretty Girls E. S. Brooks 168 

Our Music Page (Illustrated). 

Christmas Carol . William E. Ashmall 140 

There 's a Song in the Air. ( Dr. J. G. Holland) Hubert P. Main 253 

The Letter-box ( Illustrated) 76, 260, 340, 420, 501 

The Riddle-box (Illustrated) 79, 263, 343, 423, 503 


" The First Snow of the Season," facing Title-page of Volume — " Bringing Home the Christmas Tree," 81 — 
"Away from Home on Christmas Day," 1S7 — "A Midwinter Night," 267 — "A Stampede," 347 — " Spring," 427. 


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Vol. XL 


No. 1. 

[Copyright, 1883, by The CENTURY CO.] 


A Story of Evacuation -Day. 

By E. S. Brooks. 

It was the 25th of November, 1783 — a brill- 
iant day, clear, crisp, and invigorating, with just 
enough of frosty air to flush the eager cheeks 
and nip the inquisitive noses of every boy and girl 
in the excited crowd that filled the Bowery lane 
from Harlem to the barriers, and pressed fast 
upon the heels of General Knox's advance detach- 
ment of Continental troops marching to the posi- 
tion assigned them, near the ' ' tea-water pump. " At 
some points the crowd was especially pushing and 
persistent, and Mistress Dolly Duane was decidedly 
uncomfortable. For little Dolly detested crowds, 
as, in fact, she detested everything that interfered 
with the comfort of a certain dainty little maiden 
of thirteen. And she was just on the point of ex- 
pressing to her cousin, young Edward Livingstone, 
her regret that they had not staid to witness the 
procession from the tumble-down gate-way of the 
Duane country-house, near the King's Bridge road, 
when, out from the crowd, came the sound of a 
child's voice, shrill and complaining. 

" Keep off, you big, bad man," it said; ''keep 
off and let me pass. How dare you crowd me so, 
you wicked rebels ? " 

" Rebels, hey?" a harsh and mocking voice ex- 
claimed. "Rebels! Heard ye that, mates ? Well 
crowed, my little cockerel. Let 's have a look at 
you," and a burly arm rudely parted the pushing 
crowd and dragged out of the press a slight, dark- 
haired little fellow of seven or eight, clad in velvet 
and ruffles. 

" Put me down ! Put me down, I say ! " screamed 
the boy, his small face flushed with passion. " Put 
me down. I tell you, or I '11 bid Angevine horse- 
whip you ! " 

"Hark to the little Tory," growled his captor. 
"A rare young bird now, isn't he? Horsewhip 
us, d'ye say — us, free American citizens? And 
who may you be, my little beggar? " 

" I am no beggar, you bad man," cried the 
child, angrily. "I am the little lord .of the 

" Lord of the manor ! Ho, ho, ho ! " laughed 
the big fellow. "Give us grace, your worship," 
he said, with mock humility. " Lord of the 
manor! Look at him, mates," and he held the 
struggling little lad toward the laughing crowd. 
" Why, there are no lords nor manors now in free 
America, my bantam." 

"But I am, I tell you!" protested the boy. 
"That's what my grandfather calls me — oh, where 
is he ? Take me to him, please : he calls me the 
little lord of the manor." 

"Who's your grandfather?" demanded the 

"Who? Why. don't you know?" the "little 
lord" asked, incredulously. "Everybody knows 
my grandfather. I thought. He is Colonel Phil- 
lipse, baron of Phillipsbourg, and lord of the 
manor. And he'll kill you if you hurt me." he 
added, defiantly. 

" Phillipse, the king of Yonckers ! Phillipse, 



the fat old Tory of West Chester ! A prize, a 
prize, mates!" shouted the bully. "What say 
you ? Shall we hold this young bantling hostage 
for the tainted Tory, his grandfather, and when 
once we get the old fellow serve him as we did 
the refugee at Wall-kill t'other day?" 

" What did you do ? " the crowd asked. 

"Faith, we tarred and feathered him well, put 
a hog-yoke on his neck and a cow-bell, too, and 
then rode him on a rail till he cheered for the 

r- 11 ' 


"Treat my grandfather like that — my good 
grandfather ? You shall not ! you dare not ! " 
cried the small Phillipse, with a flood of angry tears, 
as he struggled and fought in his captor's arms. 

Dolly Duane's kindly heart was filled with pity 
at the rough usage of the " little lord." 

" Oh, sir," she said, as she pushed through the 
crowd and laid her hand on the big bully's arm, 
" let the child go. 'T is unmannerly to treat him 
as you do, and you 're very, very cruel." 

The fellow turned roughly around and looked 
down into Dolly's disturbed and protesting face. 

"What, another of 'em?" he said, surlily. 
" Why, the place is full of little Tories." 

"No, no; no Tory I ! " said indignant Dolly. 
"My father is Mr. Duane, and he is no Tory." 

" Mr. Duane, of the Congress ? " " Give up the 
lad to the maid." " Why harm the child?" came 
mingled voices from the crowd. 

" What care I for Duane ! " said the bully, con- 
temptuously. "One man's as good as another 
now in free America, — isn't he? Bah! you 're 
all cowards; but I know when I 've got a good 
thing. You don't bag a Phillipse every day, I '11 
warrant you." 

" No ; but we bag other game once in a while," 
said Dolly's cousin, young Edward Livingstone, 
pushing his way to her side. " We bag turncoats 
and thieves, and murdering runagates sometimes, 
even in ' free America ' ; and we know what to do 
with them when we do bag them. Friends." he 
cried, turning to the crowd, " do you know this 
fellow ? He's a greater prize than the little Phil- 
lipse. 'T is Big Jake of the Saw-mill — a ' skinner ' 
one day and a ' cow-boy ' next, as it suits his fancy 
and as brings him booty. I know him, and so does 
the water-guard. I am Livingstone, of Clermont 
Manor. Let down the lad, man, or we '11 turn 
you over to the town-major. He 'd like to have a 
chance at you rarely." 

The crowd uttered a cry of rage as it closed 
excitedly around the burly member of the lawless 
gang that had preyed upon the defenseless people 
of the lower Hudson during the years of war and 
raid. The bully paled at the sound and dropped 
the little Phillipse from his arms. Without wait- 

ing to see the issue, young Livingstone dragged the 
" little lord " from the throng, while his companion, 
Master Clinton, hurried Dolly along, and they were 
soon free of the crowd that was dealing roughly 
enough with Big Jake of the Saw-mill. 

" Now, Dolly, let us go back to the farm before 
we get into further trouble," said Cousin Ned, a 
pleasant young fellow of eighteen, who looked upon 
himself as the lawful protector of " the children." 

"But what shall we do with our little lord of 
the manor, Cousin Ned ? " asked Dolly. 

"The safest plan is to take him with us," he 

"Oh, no, sir: no," pleaded the little boy. 
"We sail to-day with Sir Guy Carleton, and what 
will grandfather do without me ? " And then he 
told them how, early that morning, he had slipped 
away from Angevine, Colonel Phillipse's body- 
servant, passed through the barriers and strolled 
up the Bowery lane to see the " rebel soldiers " ; 
how he had lost his way in the crowd, and was 
in sore distress and danger until Dolly interfered; 
and how he thanked them " over and over again " 
for protecting him. But "Oh, please, I must go 
back to my grandfather," he added. 

Little Mistress Dolly had a mind of her own, and 
she warmly championed the cause of the " lost little 
lord," as she called him. 

"Cousin Ned," she said, "of course, he must go 
to his grandfather, and of course, we must take 
him. Think how I should feel if they tried to keep 
me from my father ! " and Dolly's sympathetic 
eyes filled at the dreadful thought. 

"But how can we take him?" asked Cousin 
Ned. " How can we get past the barriers? " 

A hundred years ago, New York City proper ex- 
tended northward only as far as the present Post- 
office, and during the Revolution a line of earth- 
works was thrown across the island at that point to 
defend it against assault from the north. The British 
sentinels at these barriers were not to give up their 
posts to the Americans until one o'clock on this 
eventful evacuation-day, and Cousin Ned, therefore, 
could not well see how- they could pass the sentries. 

But young Master Clinton, a bright, curly- 
haired boy of thirteen, said confidently : " Oh, 
that's easily done." And then, with a knowledge 
of the highways and by-ways which many rambles 
through the dear old town had given him, he un- 
folded his plan. " See here," he said, " we '11 
turn down the Monument lane, just below us, cut 
across through General Mortier's woods to Mr. 
Nicholas Bayard's, and so on to the Ranelagh 
Gardens. From there we can easily get over to 
the Broad Way and the Murray-street barrier before 
General Knox gets to the Fresh Water, where he 
has been ordered to halt until one o'clock. When 

i88 3 .] 


the guard at the barrier knows that we have the 
little baron of Phillipsbourg with us, and has 
handled the two York sixpences you will give him, 
of course he '11 let us pass. So, don't you see, we 
can fix this little boy all right, and, better yet, 
can see King George's men go out and our troops 
come in, and make just a splendid day of it." 

Dolly, fully alive to these glorious possibilities, 
clapped her hands delightedly. 

" What a brain the boy has ! " said young Living- 
stone. " Keep on, my son," he said, patronizingly, 
"and you '11 make a great man yet." 

"So I mean to be," said De Witt Clinton, 
cheerily, and then, heading the little group, he fol- 
lowed out the route he had proposed. Ere long 
the barriers were safely passed, Cousin Ned was 
two York sixpences out of pocket, and the young 
people stood within the British lines. 

" And now, where may we find your grand- 
father, little one?" Cousin Ned inquired, as they 
halted on the Broad Way beneath one of the tall 
poplars that lined the old-time street. 

The little Phillipse could not well reply. The 
noise and confusion that filled the city had turned 
his head. For what with the departing English 
troops, the disconsolate loyalist refugees hurrying 
for transportation to distant English ports, and the 
zealous citizens who were making great prepara- 
tions to welcome the incoming soldiers of the 
Congress, the streets of the little city were full of 
bustle and excitement. The boy said his grand- 
father might be at the fort; he might be at the 
King's Arms Tavern, near Stone street ; he might 
be — he would be — hunting for him. 

So Master Clinton suggested, "Let's go down 
to Mr. Day's tavern here in Murray street. He 
knows me, and, if he can, will find Colonel Phil- 
lipse for us." Down into Murray street therefore 
they turned, and, near the road to Greenwich, saw 
the tavern, — a long, low-roofed house, gable end 
to the street, — around which an excited crowd 
surged and shouted. 

"Why, look there," Master Clinton cried, 
"look there, and the King's men not yet gone !" 
and, following the direction of his finger, they saw 
with surprise the stars and stripes, the flag of the 
new republic, floating from the pole before the 

" Huzza ! " they shouted with the rest, but the 
"little lord" said, somewhat contemptuously, 
" Why, 't is the rebel flag — or so my grandfather 
calls it." 

" Rebel no longer, little one," said Cousin Ned, 
"as even your good grandfather must now admit. 
But surely," he added, anxiously, " Mr. Day will 
get himself in trouble by raising his flag before 
our troops come in." 

An angry shout now rose from the throng around 
the flag-staff, and as the fringe of small boys scat- 
tered and ran in haste, young Livingstone caught 
one of them by the arm. " What 's the trouble, 
lad? " he asked. 

" Let go ! " said the boy, struggling to free him- 
self. " You 'd better scatter, too, or Cunning- 
ham will catch you. He 's ordered down Day's 
flag, and says he'll clear the crowd." 

They all knew who Cunningham was — the 
cruel and vindictive British provost-marshal ; the 
starver of American prisoners and the terror of 
American children. "Come away, quick," said 
Cousin Ned. But, though they drew off at first, 
curiosity was too strong, and they were soon in 
the crowd again. 

Cunningham, the marshal, stood at the foot of 
the flag-pole. " Come, you rebel cur," he said to 
Mr. Day, " I give you two minutes to haul down 
that rag — two minutes, d'ye hear, or into the 
Provost you go. Your beggarly troops are not in 
possession here yet, and I '11 have no such striped 
rag as that flying in the faces of His Majesty's 
forces ! " 

" There it is, and there it shall stay," said Day, 
quietly but firmly. 

Cunningham turned to his guard. 

"Arrest that man," he ordered. "And as for 
this thing here, I '11 haul it down myself," and, 
seizing the halyards, he began to lower the flag. 
The crowd broke out into fierce murmurs, uncer- 
tain what to do. But, in the midst of the tumult, 
the door of the tavern flew open, and forth sallied 
Mrs. Day, "fair, fat, and forty," armed with her 
trusty broom. 

"Hands off that flag, you villain, and drop my 
husband ! " she cried, and before the astonished 
Cunningham could realize the situation, the broom 
came down thwack ! thwack ! upon his powdered 
wig. Old men still lived, not twenty years ago, 
who were boys in that excited crowd, and remem- 
bered how the powder flew from the stiff white 
wig, and how, amidst jeers and laughter, the de- 
feated provost-marshal withdrew from the unequal 
contest, and fled before the resistless sweep of Mrs. 
Day's all-conquering broom. And the flag did not 
come down. 

From thevantage-groundof a projecting " stoop " 
our young friends had indulged in irreverent 
laughter, and the marshal's quick ears caught 
the sound. 

Fuming with rage and seeking some one to vent 
his anger on, he rushed up the "stoop " and bade 
his guard drag down the culprits. 

"What pestilent young rebels have we here?" 
he growled. "Who are you?" He started as 
they gave their names. "Livingstone? Clinton? 



Duane ? " he repeated. "Well, well — a rare lot 
this of the rebel brood ! And who is yon young 
bantling in velvet and ruffles ? " 

" You must not stop us, sir," said the boy, facing 
the angry marshal. " I am the little lord of the 
manor, and my grandfather is Colonel Phillipse. 
Sir Guy Carleton is waiting for me." 

" Well, well," exclaimed the surprised marshal ; 
'■here 's a fine to-do ! A Phillipse in this rebel lot ! 
What does it mean ? Have ye kidnapped the lad ? 
Here may be some treachery. Bring them along ! " 
and with as much importance as if he had captured 
a whole corps of Washington's dragoons, instead 
of a few harmless children, the young prisoners 
were hurried off, followed by an indignant crowd. 
Dolly was considerably frightened, and dark visions 
of the stocks, the whipping-post, and the ducking- 
stool by the Collect pond rose before her eyes. But 
Cousin Ned whispered: " Don't be afraid, Dolly — 
'twill be all right"; and Master Clinton even 
sought to argue with the marshal. 

" There are no rebels now, sir," he said, " since 
your king has given up the fight. You yourselves 
are rebels, rather, if you restrain us of our freedom. 
I know your king's proclamation, word for word. 
It says : ' We do hereby strictly charge and com- 
mand all our officers, both at sea and land, and all 
other our subjects whatsoever, to forbear all acts 
of hostility, cither by sea or land, against the 
United States of America, their vassals or subjects, 
under the penalty of incurring our highest dis- 
pleasure.' Wherefore, sir," concluded this wise 
young pleader, " if you keep us in unlawful cus- 
tody, you brave your king's displeasure." 

"You impudent young rebel " began Cun- 
ningham; but the "little lord" interrupted him 
with : " You shall not take us to jail, sir. 1 will tell 
my grandfather, and he will make Sir Guy punish 
you." And upon this, the provost-marshal, whose 
wrath had somewhat cooled, began to fear that he 
might, perhaps, have exceeded his authority, and 
ere long, with a sour look and a surly word, he set 
the young people free. 

Sir Guy Carleton, K. C. B., commander-in-chief 
of all His Majesty's forces in the colonies, stood 
at the foot of the flag-staff on the northern bastion 
of Fort George. Before him filed the departing 
troops of his king, evacuating the pleasant little city 
they had occupied for over seven years. "There 
might be seen," says one of the old records, 
" the Hessian, with his towering, brass-fronted 
cap, mustache colored with the same blacking 
which colored his shoes, his hair plastered with 
tallow and flour, and reaching in whip-form to his 
waist. His uniform was a blue coat, yellow vest 
and breeches, and black gaiters. The Highlander, 
with his low checked bonnet, his tartan or plaid, 

short red coat, his kilt above his knees and they 
exposed, his hose short and party-colored. There 
were also the grenadiers of Anspach, with towering 
yellow caps ; the gaudy Waldeckers, with their 
cocked hats edged with yellow scallops ; the Ger- 
man yagers, and the various corps of English in 
glittering and gallant pomp." The white-capped 
waves of the beautiful bay sparkled in the sunlight, 
while the whale-boats, barges, gigs, and launches 
sped over the water, bearing troops and refugees 
to the transports, or to the temporary camp on 
Staten Island. The last act of the evacuation was 
almost completed. But Sir Guy Carleton looked 
troubled. His eye wandered from the departing 
troops at Whitehall slip to the gate at Bowling 
Green, and then across the parade to the Gov- 
ernor's gardens and the town beyond. 

" Well, sir, what word from Colonel Phillipse?" 
he inquired, as an aid hurried to his side. 

" He bids you go without him, General," the aid 
reported. " The boy is not yet found, but the 
Colonel says he will risk seizure rather than leave 
the lad behind." 

"It can not well be helped," said the British 
commander. "I will myself dispatch a line to 
General Washington, requesting due courtesy and 
safe conduct for Colonel Phillipse and his missing 
heir. But see — whom have we here?" he asked, 
as across the parade two children came hurrying 
hand in hand. Fast behind them a covered cariole 
came tearing through the gate-way, and ere the 
bastion on which the General stood was reached, 
the cariole drew up with a sudden stop, and a very 
large man, descending hastily, caught up one of 
the children in his arms. 

" Good ; the lost is found ! " exclaimed Sir Guy. 
who had been an interested spectator of the pan- 

"All is well, General," Colonel Phillipse cried, 
joyfully, as the commander came down from the 
bastion and welcomed the new-comers. "My little 
lord of the manor is found ; and, faith, his loss 
troubled me more than all the attainder and for- 
feiture the rebel Congress can crowd upon me." 

" But how got he here ? " Sir Guy asked. 

"This fair little lady is both his rescuer and 
protector," replied the grandfather. 

"And who may you be, little mistress?" asked 
the commander-in-chief. 

Dolly made a neat little curtsy, for those were 
the days of good manners, and she was a proper 
little damsel. " I am Dolly Duane, your Excel- 
lency," she said, "daughter of Mr. James Duane, 
of the Congress." 

"Duane 1 " exclaimed the Colonel ; " well, well, 
little one, I did not think a Phillipse would ever 
acknowledge himself debtor to a Duane, but now 


do I gladly do it. Boar my compliments to your 
father, sweet Mistress Dolly, and tell him that his 
old enemy, Phillipsc, of Phillipsbourg, will never 
forget the kindly aid of his gentle little daughter, 
who has this day restored a lost lad to a sorrowing 
grandfather. And let me thus show my gratitude 
for your love and service," and the very large man, 
stooping in all courtesy before the little girl, laid 
his hand in blessing on her head, and kissed her 
fair young face. 

"A rare little maiden, truly," said gallant Sir 
Guy : " and though I have small cause to favor so 
hot an enemy of the King as is Mr. James Duane, 
I admire his dutiful little daughter; and thus 
would I, too, render her love and service," and 
the gleaming scarlet and gold-laced arms of the 
courtly old commander encircled fair Mistress 
Dolly, and a hearty kiss fell upon her blushing 
cheeks. But she was equal to the occasion. Rais- 
ing herself on tiptoe, she dropped a dainty kiss 
upon the General's smiling face, and said, "Let 
this, sir, be America's good-bye kiss to your 

"A right royal salute," said Sir Guy. "Mr. 
De Lancy, bid the band-master give us the fare- 
well march " ; and, to the strains of appropriate 
music, the commander-in-chief and his staff passed 
down to the boats, and the little lord of Phillipsc 
Manor waved Mistress Dolly a last farewell. 

Then the red cross of St. George, England's 
royal flag, came fluttering down from its high staff 
on the north bastion, and the last of the rear- 
guard wheeled toward the slip. But Cunningham, 
the provost-marshal, still angered by the thought 
of his discomfiture at Day's tavern, declared 
roundly that no rebel flag should go up that staff 
in sight of King George's men. " Come, lively 
now, you blue jackets," he shouted, turning to 
some of the sailors from the fleet. " Unreeve the 
halyards, quick ; slush down the pole ; knock off 
the stepping-cleats ! Then let them run their rag 
up if they can." His orders were quickly obeyed. 
The halyards were speedily cut, the stepping- 
cleats knocked from the staff, and the tall pole 
covered with grease, so that none might climb it. 
And with this final act of unsoldierly discourtesy, 
the memory of which has lived through a hundred 
busy years, the provost-marshal left the now lib- 
erated city. 

Even Sir Guy's gallant kiss could not rid Dolly 
of her fear of Cunningham's frown : but as she 
scampered off she heard his final order, and, hot 
with indignation, told the news to Cousin Ned and 
Master Clinton, who were in waiting for her on the 
Bowling Green. The younger lad was for stirring 
up the people to instant action, but just then they 
heard the roll of drums, and, standing near the 

ruins of King George's statue, watched the advance- 
guard of the Continental troops as it filed in 
to take possession of the fort. Beneath the high 
gate-way and straight toward the north bastion 
marched the detachment — a troop of horse, a regi- 
ment of infantry, and a company of artillery. The 
batteries, the parapets, and the ramparts were 
thronged with cheering people, and Colonel Jack- 
son, halting before the flag-staff, ordered up the 
stars and stripes. 

"The halyards are cut, Colonel," reported the 
color-sergeant ; " the cleats are gone, and the pole 
is slushed." 

"A mean trick, indeed," exclaimed the indig- 
nant Colonel. " Hallo there, lads, will you be out- 
witted by such a scurvy trick ? Look where they 
wait in their boats to give us the laugh. Will you 
let tainted Tories and buttermilk Whigs thus shame 
us ? A gold jacobus to him who will climb the staff 
and reeve the halyards for the stars and stripes ! " 

Dolly's quick ear caught the ringing words. "Oh, 
Cousin Ned," she cried ; "I saw Jacky Van Ars- 
dale on the Bowling Green. Don't you remember 
how he climbed the greased pole at Clermont, in 
the May merrying ? " and with that she sped 
across the parade and through the gate-way, re- 
turning soon with a stout sailor-boy of fifteen. 
"Now, tell the Colonel you '11 try it, Jacky." 

"Go it, Jack!" shouted Cousin Ned. "I'll 
make the gold jacobus two if you but reeve the 

"I want no money for the job, Master Living- 
stone," said the sailor-lad. " I '11 do it for Mistress 
Dolly's sake, if I can." 

Jack was an expert climber, but if any of my boy 
readers think it a simple thing to "shin up " a 
greased pole, just let them try it once — and fail. 

Jack Van Arsdale tried it manfully once, twice, 
thrice, and each time came slipping down covered 
with slush and shame. And all the watchers in 
the boats off-shore joined in a chorus of laughs and 
jeers. Jack shook his fist at them angrily. " I '11 
fix 'em yet," he said. " If but ye '11 saw me up 
some cleats, and give me hammer and nails, I '11 
run that flag to the top in spite of all the Tories 
from 'Sopus to Sandy Hook ! " 

Ready hands and willing feet came to the assist- 
ance of the plucky lad. Some ran swiftly to Mr. 
Geolet's, " the iron-monger's." in Hanover square, 
and brought quickly back " a hand-saw, hatchet, 
hammer, gimlets, and nails "; others drew a long 
board to the bastion, and while one sawed the 
board into lengths, another split the strips into 
cleats, others bored the nail-holes, and soon young 
Jack had material enough. 

Then, tying the halyards around his waist, and 
filling his jacket-pockets with cleats and nails, he 



worked his way up the flag-pole, nailing and 
climbing as he went. And now he reaches the 
top. now the halyards are reeved, and as the beau- 
tiful flag goes fluttering up the staff a mighty cheer 
is heard, and a round of thirteen guns salutes the 
stars and stripes and the brave sailor-boy who did 
the gallant deed. 

From the city streets came the roll and rumble 
of distant drums, and Dolly and her two compan- 
ions, following the exxited crowd, hastened across 
Hanover square, and from an excellent outlook in 
the Fly Market watched the whole grand proces- 
sion as it wound down Queen ^now Pearl) street, 
making its triumphal entry into the welcoming 
city. First came a corps of dragoons, then fol- 
lowed the advance-guard of light infantry and a 
corps of artillery, then more light infantry, a bat- 
talion of Massachusetts troops, and the rear-guard. 
As the veterans, with their soiled and faded uni- 
forms, filed past, Dolly could not help contrasting 
them with the brilliant appearance of the British 
troops she had seen in the fort. " Their clothes 
do look worn and rusty," she said. "But then," 
she added, with beaming eyes, "they are our sol- 
diers, and that is everything." 

And now she hears " a great hozaing all down 
the Fly," as one record queerly puts it, and as the 
shouts increase, she sees a throng of horsemen, 
where, escorted by. Captain Delavan's "West 
Chester Light Horse," ride the heroes of that 
happy hour, General George Washington and 
Governor George Clinton. Dolly added her clear 
little treble to the loud huzzas as the famous com- 
mander-in-chief rode down the echoing street. 
Behind their excellencies came other officials, dig- 
nitaries, army officers, and files of citizens, on 
horseback and afoot, many of the latter returning 
to dismantled and ruined homes after nearly eight 
years of exile. 

But Dolly did not wait to see the whole proces- 
sion. She had spied her father in the line of 
mounted citizens, and flying across Queen street, 
and around by Golden Hill (near Maiden lane), 
where the first blood of the Revolution was spilled, 
she hurried down the Broad Way, so as to reach 
Mr. Cape's tavern before their excellencies arrived. 

Soon she was in her father's arms relating her 
adventures, and as she received his chidings for 

mingling in such "unseemly crowds," and his 
praise for her championship and protection of the 
little Phillipse, a kindly hand was laid upon her 
fair young head, and a voice whose tones she could 
never forget said : " So may our children be angels 
of peace, Mr. Duane. Few have suffered more, or 
deserved better from their country, sir, than you; 
but the possession of so rare a little daughter is a 
fairer recompense than aught your country can 
bestow. Heaven has given me no children, sir ; 
but had I thus been blessed, I could have wished 
for no gentler or truer-hearted little daughter 
than this maid of yours." And with the stately 
courtesy that marked the time, General Washing- 
ton bent down and kissed little Dolly as she sat on 
her father's knee. Touched by his kindly words, 
Dolly forgot all her awe of the great man. Fling- 
ing two winsome arms about his neck, she kissed 
him in return, and said, softly, " If Mr. Duane 
were not my father, sir, I would rather it should 
be you than any one else." 

In all her after-life, though she retained pleas- 
ant memories of Sir Guy Carleton, and thought 
him a grand and gallant gentleman, Dolly Duane 
held still more firmly to her reverence and affection 
for General Washington, whom she described as 
" looking more grand and noble than any human 
being she had ever seen." 

Next to General Washington, I think she held 
the fire-works that were set off in the Bowling 
Green in honor of the Peace to have been the 
grandest thing she had ever seen. The rockets, 
and the wheels, and the tourbillions, and the bat- 
teries, and the stars were all so wonderful to her, 
that General Knox said Dolly's "ohs" and "ahs" 
were " as good as a play " ; and staid Master Clin- 
ton and jolly Cousin Ned threatened to send to the 
Ferry stairs for an anchor to hold her down. Both 
these young gentlemen grew to be famous Ameri- 
cans in after years, and witnessed many anniversaries 
of this glorious Evacuation -Day. But they never 
enjoyed any of them quite as much as they did the 
exciting original, nor could they ever forget, amidst 
all the throng of memories, how sweet Mistress 
Dolly Duane championed and protected the lost 
"little lord of the manor," and won the distin- 
guished honor of being kissed by both the com- 
manders-in-chief on the same eventful dav. 


By Will Woodman. 

" An' what did ye see that was strange-like over 
beyant, Pat? " asked an Irishman of a fellow-serv- 
ant who had just returned from Paris with his 

"Sure," said Pat, "an' I niver see the loikes 
o' the childer there. There wuz n't wan o' thim 
that cud n't spake the langwidge — an' they so 
young; an' there wuz I, a man grown, that didn't 
know the first wurd ! " 

Pat's astonishment was no more ludicrous, in 
truth, than the surprise we all express, when we 
discover in some lower animal a trait which we 
have always considered as belonging to ourselves 
alone as human beings. There is, of course, a 

great difference between the human animal and 
other animals ; but, after all, it is not so great as 
we in our complacency are wont to think. In- 
deed, one witty naturalist has said that there is 
only one difference between us and other animals, 
and that is, that we can talk and tell each other 
how wonderfully smart we are, and they can not. 

Why should not the lower animals have many 
traits of character similar to those seen in the hu- 
man animal ? They have to seek their food as we 
do ; they have enemies to contend against : they 
need help at times ; the weaker ones have to band 
together, or they would be destroyed by their 
stronger enemies. In fact, the battle of life among 




the lower animals is so like the battle of life among 
us that we really ought not to be surprised at the 
exhibition by any creature of any particular virtue 
which we call human, or any vice which we call 

For example, we think very highly of the vir- 
tue of benevolence, and we call the feeling that 
prompts it humanity, as if only man could have the 
sensation. As a fact, any animal may be benev- 
olent, and it is only because we know so little of 
animal life that we have not discovered many in- 
stances of it. There is one very odd case of benev- 
olence of one animal toward another which shows 
that help is often needed where least suspected. 

Who would suppose that the elephant, with its 
great size and massive strength, could be in need 
of such aid as so insignificant a creature as a bird 
could give it? 

Against such large animals as lions, tigers, and 
rhinoceroses it can defend itself, but against tiny 
insects, which it might crush under its feet by the 
hundred, it has no protection except what is given 
it by a little feathered friend. With such a thick 
skin as it has one might well suppose that the 
elephant would have no trouble from insects ; but, 
in truth, it is the very thickness of its hide which 
makes the small insect dangerous. 

Ticks, which are abundant in all forests, work 
their way into the cracks in the skin of the huge 
creature, and as the skin is so thick they are en- 
abled to bury themselves so completely that they 
can not be scraped off when the smarting animal 
rubs against rocks or trees. A differently con- 
structed animal could use its teeth or feet to re- 
move the annoyance ; but for the elephant, there 
is nothing but suffering and torture, unless some 
kind friend lends a helping hand — or bill. 

And this kind friend is not lacking ; for no sooner 
are the little pests comfortably ensconced than a 
pair of small, bright, yellow eyes searches them out, 
and the next moment a pretty, orange-colored beak 
plucks them forth. The owner of the eyes and 
beak is a beautiful, snow-white heron ; small of 
body, but large of heart ; for it seems, in Northern 
Africa at least, to have devoted its life to the benev- 
olent work of watching over its monstrous protege. 

It is a novel and beautiful sight to see the dark- 
skinned giant of the jungle stalking ponderously 
along, with as many as a score of these beautiful 
birds perched upon his back and head, busily work- 
ing to free him from his little tormentors. And 
full well the elephant knows what he owes his 
benefactors. Not for anything would he harm 
them, ugly-tempered as he often is. Even when 
the sharp beak probes deep into the sensitive flesh, 
the great creature bears the pain patiently, seeming 
to know that it is necessary. 

In countries where there are no elephants this 
bird cares in the same way for cattle ; for which 
reason its popular name is cattle-heron. Scientific 
men, however, call it Bubulais ibis. 

We have a saying that charity begins at home, 
and it has been added that a great deal of the 
charity that begins at home stays there. Of this 
narrow sort of benevolence, too, we find examples 
among the animals. There is the barbet, for in- 
stance. It is a solitary bird, and sits most of the 
time in morose silence on a twig, waiting for its 
food (in the shape of an insect) to fly by. Some- 
times it is said to rouse itself and make a descent 
upon the nest of some smaller bird, and eat all the 
little ones. 

Certainly, one would not look for any sort of 
benevolence from such a bird ; and yet it offers a 
very striking and beautiful example of the begin- 
at-home-and-stay-there kind. 

The celebrated naturalist, Levaillant, who has 
told us so many interesting things about the birds 
of Africa and South America, says that he discov- 
ered a barbet's nest in which there were five birds. 
Four of them were young and vigorous, but the 
fifth was so old and weak that when it was put into 
a cage with its comrades it could not move, but 
lay dying in the corner where it had been placed. 

When food was put into the cage, the poor old 
bird could only look at it longingly, without having 
the strength to drag itself within reach of it. Then 
it was that the younger birds manifested a singular 
spirit of kindness. Quickly, and even with an air 
of tenderness, as it-seems, they carried food to the 
decrepit old bird, and fed it as if it had been only 
a fledgling. Struck by this spectacle, the naturalist 
examined the nest from which the birds had been 
taken, and found it was full of husks and the 
remains of insects, showing plainly that the old 
bird must have been maintained a long time by its 
vigorous companions, which probably were its own 
offspring. Further study of other birds of the 
same species convinced the naturalist that it was 
the custom for the old and infirm birds to be cared 
for by the young and strong. 

There are several different species of barbets 
found in Africa and South America, and though 
not graceful in shape, many of them are exceed- 
ingly beautiful in plumage. They get their name 
of barbet from the French word barbe, meaning 
beard, because they have tufts of stiff hair at the 
base of the bill. Naturalists place them in a genus 
called Bucco, and some persons call them puff-birds, 
because they have an odd way of puffing out the 
feathers all over the body, which then looks more 
like a bale of feathers than a bird. 

But it has happened, too, that man himself has 
been made the object of a lower animal's benevo- 

i88 3 .] 


I I 

lencc ; and thus the efforts of a few human beings 
in behalf of animals may be seen to have had a par- 
allel in counter-efforts on the part of the animals. 

In South America there is a very beautiful bird 
called the agami, or the golden-breasted trumpeter. 
It is about as large in the body as one of our com- 
mon barn-ynrd fowl, but as it has longer legs and 
a longer neck it seems much larger. Its general 
color is black, but the plumage on the breast is 
beautiful beyond description, being what might be 
called iridescent, changing, as it continually 
does, from a steel-blue to a red-gold, and 
glittering with a metallic luster. 

In its wild state the agami is not 
peculiar for anything but its beau 
ty, its extraordinary cry, which 
has given it the name of trum- 
peter, and for an odd habit 
of leaping with comical an 
tics into the air, appar- 

to wander, they are quickly brought to a sense of 
duty by a sharp reminder from the strong beak of 
the vigilant agami. At night, the faithful guardian 
drives its charge home again. 

Sometimes it is given the care of a flock of sheep: 
and, though it may seem too puny for such a task, 
it is in fact quite equal to it. The misguided sheep 
that tries to trifle with the agami soon has cause to 
repent the experiment ; for, with a swiftness unri- 
valed by any dog, the feathered shepherd darts 

ently for its own amuse- 
ment. When tamed, 
however, — and it soon 
learns to abandon its 
wild ways, — it usually 
conceives a violent at- 
tachment for its master, 
and, though very jealous 
of his affection, endeavors 


to please him by a solicitude for the well-being of 
all that belongs to him, which may fairly be termed 

It is never shut up at night as the other fowl are, 
but, with a well-deserved liberty, is permitted to take 
up its quarters where it pleases. In the morning, 
it drives the ducks to the water and the chickens to 
their feeding-ground : and if any should presume 

after the runaway, and with wings and beak drives 
it back to its place, not forgetting to impress upon 
the offender a sense of its error by frequent pecks 
with its sharp beak. 

Should a dog think to take advantage of the 
seemingly unguarded condition of the sheep and 
approacli them with evil design, the agami makes 
no hesitation about rushing at him and giving 




combat. And it must be a good dog that will 
overcome the brave bird. Indeed, most dogs are 
so awed by the fierce onset of the agami, accom- 
panied by its strange cries, that they incontinently 
turn about and run, fortunate if they escape un- 
wounded from the indignant creature. 

At meal-times it walks into the house and takes 
its position near its master, seeming to ask for his 
caresses. It will not permit the presence of any 
other pet in the room, and even resents the 
intrusion of any servants not belonging there, 
driving out all others before it will be contented. 
Like a well-bred dog, it does not clamor for food, 
but waits with dignity until its wants have been 

satisfied. Like the dog, too, it exhibits the great- 
est joy upon the return of its master after an 

Travelers in Guiana and other parts of South 
America, north of the Amazon, find the agami 
domesticated even by the natives ; and one writer 
tells of a young bird which was taken to England 
and brought up in the country. It made friends 
with the hounds and followed them in the hunts, 
having no difficulty in keeping up with them, and 
seeming to enjoy the whole affair as much as any 
of the participants. This story may not be true, 
but it is not improbable ; for a bird of the intelli- 
gence of the agami might easily do as much. 

drecby yound -fellow r^med JjsJfc 
Q)nce swtc §v wW? loscP oT plum cake 
^W c5oobne;; , be bawled , 
# %^fhen the doctor was called | # 
I -feso* I Kgvve TTY&bc & mistake® 




By H. Butterworth. 


I spun around like a top, looking nervously in 
every direction. I was familiar with that sound ; I 
had heard it before, during two summer vacations, 
at the old farm-house on the Cape. 

It had been a terror to me. I always put a door, 
a fence, or a stone wall between me and that sound 
as speedily as possible. 

I had just come down from the city to the Cape 
for my third summer vacation. I had left the cars 
with my arms full of bundles, and hurried toward 
Aunt Targood's. 

The cottage stood in from the road. There was 
a long meadow in front of it. In the meadow 
were two great oaks and some clusters of lilacs. 
An old, mossy stone wall protected the grounds 
from the road, and a long walk ran from the old 
wooden gate to the door. 

It was a sunny day, and my heart was light. 
The orioles were flaming in the old orchards ; the 
bobolinks were tossing themselves about in the long 
meadows of timothy, daisies, and patches of clover. 
There was a scent of new-mown hay in the air. 

In the distance lay the bay, calm and resplen- 
dent, with white sails and specks of boats. Beyond 
it rose Martha's Vineyard, green and cool and 
bowery, and at its wharf lay a steamer. 

I was, as I said, light-hearted. I was thinking 
of rides over the sandy roads at the close of the 
long, bright days ; of excursions on the bay ; of 
clam-bakes and picnics. 

I was hungry ; and before me rose visions of 
Aunt Targood's fish dinners, roast chickens, berry 
pies. I was thirsty ; but ahead was the old well- 
sweep, and, behind the cool lattice of the dairy 
window, were pans of milk in abundance. 

I tripped on toward the door with light feet, lug- 
ging my bundles and beaded with perspiration, 
but unmindful of all discomforts in the thought of 
the bright days and good things in store for me. 

" Honk ! honk ! " 

My heart gave a bound ! 

Where did that sound come from ? 

Out of a cool cluster of innocent-looking lilac 
bushes, I saw a dark object cautiously moving. It 
seemed to have no head. I knew, however, that 
it had a head. I had seen it ; it had seized me 
once on the previous summer, and I had been 
in terror of it during all the rest of the season. 

I looked down into the irregular grass, and saw 
the head and a very long neck running along on 

the ground, propelled by the dark body, like a 
snake running away from a ball. It was coming 
toward me, and faster and faster as it approached. 

I dropped all my bundles. 

In a few flying leaps I returned to the road again, 
and armed myself with a stick from a pile of cord- 

"Honk! honk! honk!" 

It was a call of triumph. The head was high in 
the air now. My enemy moved grandly foward, as 
became the monarch of the great meadow farm- 

I stood with beating heart, after my retreat. 

It was Aunt Targood's gander. 

How he enjoyed his triumph, and how small and 
cowardly he made me feel ! 

"Honk! honk! honk !" 

The geese came out of the lilac bushes, bowing 
their heads to him in admiration. Then came the 
goslings — a long procession of awkward, half- 
feathered things : they appeared equally delighted. 

The gander seemed to be telling his admiring 
audience all about it : how a strange girl with 
many bundles had attempted to cross the yard ; 
how he had driven her back, and had captured her 
bundles, and now was monarch of the field. He 
clapped his wings when he had finished his heroic 
story, and sent forth such a " honk ! " as might have 
startled a major-general. 

Then he, with an air of great dignity and cool- 
ness, began to examine my baggage. 

Among my effects were several pounds of choc- 
olate caramels, done up in brown paper. Aunt 
Targood liked caramels, and I had brought her 
a large supply. 

He tore off the wrappers quickly. Bit one. It 
was good. He began to distribute the bon-bons 
among the geese, and they, with much liberality 
and good-will, among the goslings. 

This was too much. I ventured through the gate 
swinging my cord-wood stick. 

"■ Shoo ! " 

He dropped his head on the ground, and drove 
it down the walk in a lively waddle toward me. 

" Shoo f " 

It was Aunt Targood's voice at the door. 

He stopped immediately. 

His head was in the air again. 


Out came Aunt Targood with her broom. 

She always corrected the gander with her broom. 




If I were to be whipped I should choose a broom — 
not the stick. 

As soon as he beheld the broom he retired, al- 
though with much offended pride and dignity, to 
the lilac bushes ; and the geese and goslings fol- 
lowed him. 

"Hester, you dear child, come here. I was ex- 
pecting you, and had been looking out for you, but 
missed sight of you. I had forgotten all about the 

We gathered up the bundles and the caramels. 
I was light-hearted again. 

How cool was the sitting-room, with the woodbine 
falling about the open windows ! Aunt brought 
me a pitcher of milk and some strawberries ; some 
bread and honey; and a fan. 

While I was resting and taking my lunch, I 
could hear the gander discussing the affairs of the 
farm-yard with the geese. I did not greatly enjoy 
the discussion. His tone of voice was very proud, 
and he did not seem to be speaking well of me. I 
was suspicious that he did not think me a very 
brave girl. A young person likes to be spoken 
well of, even by the gander. 

Aunt Targood's gander had been the terror of 
many well-meaning people, and of some evil-doers, 
for many years. I have seen tramps and pack- 
peddlers enter the gate, and start on toward the 
door, when there would sound that ringing warn- 
ing like a war-blast, " Honk, honk ! " and in a few 
minutes these unwelcome people would be gone. 
Farm-house boarders from the city would some- 
times enter the yard, thinking to draw water by the 
old well-sweep : in a few minutes it was customary 
to hear shrieks, and to see women and children 
flying over the walls, followed by air-rending 
" honks ! " and jubilant cackles from the victorious 
gander and his admiring family. 

Aunt Targood sometimes took summer boarders. 
Among those that I remember was Reverend Mr. 
Bonney, a fervent-souled Methodist preacher. He 
put the gander to flight with the cart-whip, on the 
second day after his arrival, and seemingly to 
Aunt's great grief; but he never was troubled by 
the feathered tyrant again. 

Young couples sometimes came to Father Bonney 
to be married ; and, one summer afternoon, there 
rode up to the gate a very young couple, whom we 
afterward learned had "run away"; or, rather, 
had attempted to get married without their parents' 
approval. The young bridegroom hitched the 
horse, and helped from the carriage the gayly 
dressed miss he expected to make his wife. They 
started up the walk upon the run, as though they 
expected to be followed, and haste was necessary 
to prevent the failure of their plans. 

" Honk ! " 

They stopped. It was a voice of authority. 

" Just look at him ! " said the bride. " Oh ! oh ! " 

The bridegroom cried "Shoo!" but he might 
as well have said " shoo " to a steam-engine. On 
came the gander, with his head and neck upon the 
ground. He seized the lad by the calf of his leg, 
and made an immediate application of his wings. 
The latter seemed to think he had been attacked 
by dragons. As soon as he could shake him off 
he ran. So did the bride, but in another direction; 
and while the two were thus perplexed and dis- 
comfited, the bride's father appeared in a carriage, 
and gave her a most forcible invitation to ride 
home with him. She accepted it without discus- 
sion. What became of the bridegroom, or how 
the matter ended, we never knew. 

"Aunt, what makes you keep that gander, year 
after year ? " said I, one evening, as we were sitting 
on the lawn before the door. "Is it because he 
is a kind of a watch-dog, and keeps troublesome 
people away ? " 

"No, child, no; I do not wish to keep most 
people away, not well-behaved people, nor to dis- 
tress nor annoy any one. The fact is, there is a 
story about that gander that I do not like to speak 
of to every one — something that makes me feel 
tender toward him ; so that if he needs a whip- 
ping, I would rather do it. He knows something 
that no one else knows. I could not have him 
killed or sent away. You have heard me speak of 
Nathaniel, my oldest boy ? " 


"That is his picture in my room, you know. 
He was a good boy to me. He loved his mother. 
I loved Nathaniel — you cannot think how much I 
loved Nathaniel. It was on my account that he 
went away. 

"The farm did not produce enough for us all: 
Nathaniel, John, and I. We worked hard and had 
a hard time. One year — that was ten years ago 
— we were sued for our taxes. 

"'Nathaniel,' said I, 'I will go to taking 
boarders. ' 

" Then he looked up to me and said (Oh, how 
noble and handsome he appeared to me !) : 

" ' Mother, I will go to sea.' 

" ' Where ? ' asked I, in surprise. 

'"In a coaster.' 

" I turned white. How I felt ! 

"'You and John can manage the place,' he 
continued. ' One of the vessels sails next week 
— Uncle Aaron's ; he offers to take me.' 

" It seemed best, and he made preparations to go. 

"The spring before, Skipper Ben — you have met 
Skipper Ben — had given me some goose eggs; 
he had brought them from Canada, and said 
that they were wild-goose eggs. 


" I set them under hens. In four weeks I had 
three goslings. I took them into the house at first, 
but afterward made a pen for them out in the yard. 
I brought them up myself, and one of those gos- 
lings is that gander. 

" Skipper Ben came over to see me, the day be- 
fore Nathaniel was to sail. Aaron came with him. 

" I said to Aaron : 

" ' What can I give to Nathaniel to carry to sea 
with him to make him think of home ? Cake, 
preserves, apples ? I have n't got much ; I have 
done all I can for him, poor boy.' 

" Brother looked at me curiously, and said : 

" ' Give him one of those wild geese, and we will 
fatten it on shipboard and will have it for our 
Thanksgiving dinner.' 

"What brother Aaron said pleased me. The 
young gander was a noble bird, the handsomest 
of the lot ; and I resolved to keep the geese to kill 
for my own use and to give him to Nathaniel. 

" The next morning — it was late in September — 
I took leave of Nathaniel. I tried to be calm and 
cheerful and hopeful. I watched him as he went 
down the walk with the gander struggling under 
his arms. A stranger would have laughed, but I 
did not feel like laughing ; it was true that the 
boys who went coasting were usually gone but 
a few months and came home hardy and happy. 
But when poverty compels a mother and son to 
part, after they have been true to each other, and 
shared their feelings in common, it seems hard, it 
seems hard — though I do not like to murmur or 
complain at anything allotted to me. 

" I saw him go over the hill. On the top he 
stopped and held up the gander. He disap- 
peared ; yes, my own Nathaniel disappeared. 1 
think of him now as one who disappeared. 

" November came — it was a terrible month on 
the coast that year. Storm followed storm ; the 
sea-faring people talked constantly of wrecks and 
losses. 1 could not sleep on the nights of those 
high winds. I used to lie awake thinking over all 
the happy hours I had lived with Nathaniel. 

" Thanksgiving week came. 

" It was full of an Indian-summer brightness after 
the long storms. The nights were frosty, bright, 
and calm. 

" I could sleep on those calm nights. 

"One morning, I thought I heard a strange sound 
in the woodland pasture. It was like a wild goose. 
I listened ; it was repeated. I was lying in bed. 
I started up — I thought I had been dreaming. 

" On the night before Thanksgiving I went to bed 
early, being very tired. The moon was full ; the 
air was calm and still. I was thinking of Nathaniel, 
and I wondered if he would indeed have the gander 
for his Thanksgiving dinner : if it would be cooked 

as well as I would have cooked it, and if he would 
think of me that day. 

" I was just going to sleep, when suddenly I 
heard a sound that made me start up and hold my 

" 'Honk/' 

" I thought it was a dream followed by a 
nervous shock. 

" 'Honk! honk!' 

" There it was again, in the yard. I was surely 
awake and in my senses. 

" I heard the geese cackle. 

" 'Hon/c! honk! honk ! " 

"I got out of bed and lifted the curtain. It was 
almost as light as day. Instead of two geese there 
were three. Had one of the neighbor's geese 
stolen away ? 

" I should have thought so, and should not have 
felt disturbed, but for the reason that none of the 
neighbors' geese had that peculiar call — that horn- 
like tone that I had noticed in mine. 

" I went out of the door. 

" The third goose looked like the very gander I 
had given Nathaniel. Could it be ? 

" I did not sleep. I rose early and went to the 
crib for some corn. 

" It was a gander — a ' wild ' gander — that had 
come in the night. He seemed to know me. 

" I trembled all over as though I had seen a ghost. 
I was so faint that I sat down on the meal-chest. 

" As I was in that place, a bill pecked against the 
door. The door opened. The strange gander 
came hobbling over the crib-stone and went to the 
corn-bin. He stopped there, looked at me, and 
gave a sort of glad " honk," as though he knew me 
and was glad to see me. 

" I was certain that he was the gander I had 
raised, and that Nathaniel had lifted into the air 
when he gave me his last recognition from the 
top of the hill. 

' It overcame me. It was Thanksgiving. The 
church bell would soon be ringing as on Sunday. 
And here was Nathaniel's Thanksgiving dinner ; 
and brother Aaron's — had it flown away? Where 
was the vessel ? 

"Years have passed — ten. You know I waited 
and waited for my boy to come back. Decem- 
ber grew dark with its rainy seas ; the snows fell ; 
May lighted up the hills, but the vessel never 
came back. Nathaniel — my Nathaniel — never 

" That gander knows something he could tell me 
if he could talk. Birds have memories. He re- 
membered the corn-crib — he remembered some- 
thing else. I wish he could talk, poor bird ! I wish 
he could talk. I will never sell him, nor kill him, 
nor have him abused. He knows ! " 




By Emnia C. Dowd. 

A long time ago, there lived, in Cologne, 
Otto von Hiller and Rupert Van Tone : 
And Otto wrote fables, 
But Rupert made tables — 
■'■ The very best tables that ever were known 
So said every sensible frau in Cologne. 

" Friend Rupert,"' said Otto von Hiller, one day, 
" Come, tell me the wonderful reason, I pray, 
Why men call you clever, 
When, really, you never 
Professed' to have very much learning, you know, 
And I — well, in truth, I 've enough for a show 



" I 'in master of Latin, I 'm famous in Greek, 
Both French and Italian I fluently speak ; 
I could talk by the year 
Of our nation's career ; 
Yet, some one has said — to his shame be it 

known — 
That I am the stupidest man in Cologne !" 

Said Rupert Van Tone : " If you 11 .promise to 

try it, 
I '11 tell you the secret : — I 've learned to keep 

" But I 've so much to say ! " — 
" 'T wont spoil in a day ; 

vol. xi.— 2. 




Who lets his tongue run like a vibrating lever 
Stands very small chance of being called clever." 

But he 'd " so much to say," this Otto von Hiller : 
'T was now to the judge, and now to the miller : 

Ho 'd appear without warning, 

And stay all the morning, 
Till his hearers would sigh as he left, " What a drone ! 
He is truly the stupidest man in Cologne." 

But Rupert Van Tone worked on at his trade : 

He listened and thought, but his words he well weighed, 

Till at two score and twenty 

He 'd money in plenty ; 
And through summer and winter his mansion was known 
As the home of the cleverest man in Cologne. 

W I N T E R F U N , 



By William O. Stoddard. 

Chapter I. 

" Now, Lavaujer, that cutter 's all you have to 
show for as hard a month's work as ever you 
did " 

" But, Mother, just look at it." 

"That 's what I 'm doing, now. You 've had it 
painted red, and varnished, and there 's room in it 
for two, if neither one of 'em was too heavy " 

"Now, Mother, you ought to try it. I '11 take 
you to meeting in it, next Sunday. It runs — 
well, you ought to see how the sorrel colt gets 
along, with that cutter behind him." 

" And I 'm not sorry you 've got something for 
him to do. You 've been 'raising' him, as you 
call it, ever since you were a twelve-year-old, and 
he was a yearling then." 

Mrs. Stebbins had indeed been looking hard at 
her son's new "cutter," and she had taken a good 
five minutes to tell him all she thought about it ; 
but there was pride in her eye as she turned to go 
into the house. He did not hear her mutter: 

"He's the smartest boy in all Benton Valley, 
and now he has the nicest horse and cutter. I 
guess it wont spoil him." 

He was leading his sorrel pet, with the trim little 
sleigh behind him, through the gate that led to the 
barn. It was a grand thing for a country boy of 
his age to have such an " outfit," all his own. 

If he were not just a little " spoiled," it was no 
fault of his mother's, for he was her only son, and 
she had talked to him and about him for almost 
seventeen years. He looked a year or so older 
than that, to be sure, and his mother said he 
knew enough for a man of forty. She had named 
him " Le Voyageur," after a great French traveler, 
whose name she had seen in a book when she was 
a girl, but the Valley boys had shortened it into 

" Now, Jeff," he said, as he cast the sorrel loose 
from the cutter. "I 'm not sure but you '11 have a 
better load to haul next time you 're hitched in." 

Jeff whinnied gently, as if to express his willing- 
ness for any improvement, and Vosh led him into 
the stable. 

"City folks know some things," he remarked to 
Jeff, while he poured some oats in the manger ; 
" but I don't believe they know what good sleighing 
is. We '11 show 'em, as soon as we get some bells, 
and the deacon has more buffalo-robes than he 
knows what to do with." 

That was a good half-hour before supper-time, 
and he seemed in no hurry to get into the house ; 
but it was odd that his mother, at the very same 
time, should have been talking to herself, in de- 
fault of any other hearer, about "city folks," and 
their ways and by-ways and short-comings. 

Down the road a little distance, and on the other 
side of it, a very different pair of people were even 
more interested in city folk, and chiefly in the fact 
that certain of them seemed to be expected at the 
house where the pair were conversing. 

It was away back in the great, old-fashioned 
kitchen of a farm-house, as large as three of the 
one in which Mrs. Stebbins was getting supper 
for Vosh. 

" Aunt Judith, I hear 'em ! " 

" Now, Pen, my child ! " 

The response came from the milk-room, and 
was followed by the sound of an empty tin milk- 
pan falling on the floor. 

" It s Hinded like bells ! " 

"It's the wind, Pen. But they ought to be 
here by this time, I declare." 

" There, Aunt Judith ! " 

Pen suddenly darted out of the kitchen, leaving 
the long hind-legs of a big pair of waffle-irons 
sticking helplessly out from the open door of the 

"Pen! Penelope!" cried Aunt Judith. '"I 
declare, she 's gone. There, I 've dropped another 
pan. What is the matter with me to-night ? I just 
do want to see those children. I suppose. Poor 
things ! How cold they will be ! " 

Penelope was pressing her eager, excited little 
face close to the frost flowers on the sitting-room 
window. It was of no use, cold as it made the tip 
of her nose, to strain her blue eyes across the 
snowy fields, or up the white, glistening reaches 
of the road. There was nothing like a sleigh in 
sight, nor did her sharpest listening bring her any 
sound of coming sleigh-bells. 

"Pen! Penelope Farnham ! " interrupted her 
aunt. " What 's that a-burnin'? Sakes alive ! If 
she has n't gone and stuck those waffle-irons in 
the fire. She 's put a waffle in 'em, too." 

Yes, and the smoke of the lost waffle was cann- 
ing tales into the milk-room. 

"Oh, Aunt Judith, I forgot! I just wanted to 
try one " 

" Just like you, Penelope Farnham. You 're 
ahva\s a-trvin' somethin'. If vou are n't a trial to 




me, I would n't say so. Now, don't touch the 
waffles once again. On no account ! " 

" It 's all burned as black " 

" Course it is. Black as a coal. I 'd ha' thought 
you 'd ha' known better 'n that. Why, when I was 
ten year old, I could ha' cooked for a fam'ly." 

"Guess I could do that," said Pen, resolutely; 
but at that very moment Aunt Judith was shaking 
out the smoking remains of the spoiled waffle, and 
she curtly responded : 

" That looks like it. You '11 burn up the irons 

Haifa minute of silence followed, and then she 
again spoke from the milk-room : 

" Penelope, look at the sitting-room fire and see 
if it needs any more wood. They '11 be more 'n 
half froze when they get here." 

Pen obeyed, but it only needed one glance into 
the great, roaring fire-place to make sure that 
nobody could even half freeze in the vicinity of 
that blaze. 

A stove was handier to cook by, and therefore 
Mr. Farnham had put aside his old-fashioned 
notions to the extent of having one set up in the 
kitchen. The parlor, too, he said, belonged to his 
wife more than it did to him, and so there was a 
stove there also, and it was hard at work now. He 
had insisted, however, that the wide, low-ceilinged, 
comfortable sitting-room should remain a good 
deal as his father had left it to him, and there the 
fire-place held its own. That was one reason why 
it was the pleasantest room in the house, especially 
on a winter evening. 

Penelope had known that fire-place a long while. 
She had even played "hide and seek" in it, in 
warm weather, when it was bright and clean ; but 
she thought she had never seen a better fire in it 
than the one that was blazing cheerily this evening, 
as if it knew that guests were expected, and in- 
tended to do its part in the welcoming. 

" Such a big back-log," Pen said to Aunt Judith, 
who had followed her in, after all, to make sure. 

" Yes, and the fore-stick 's a foot through. Your 
father heaped it up, just before he set out for 
town. He might a'most as well ha' piled a whole 
tree in." 

"Father likes fire. So do I." 

" He 's a very wasteful man with his wood, never- 
theless ! Pen, what do you intend to do with that 
poker? Do you want to have the top logs rolling 
across the floor ?" 

" That one lies crooked." 

" My child ! I dare n't leave you alone a min- 
ute. You '11 burn the house over our heads, some 

Pen obeyed. She lowered the long, heavy, iron 
rod and laid it down on the hearth, but such a fire 

as that was a terrible temptation. Almost any 
man in the world might have been glad to have 
a good poke at it, if only to see the showers of 
sparks go up from the glowing hickory logs. 

" There they come ! " 

Pen turned away from the fire very suddenly, 
and Aunt Judith put her hand to her ear and took 
off her spectacles, so she could listen better. 

" I should n't wonder " she began. 

"' That 's the sound of sleigh-bells, I 'm sure! 
It 's our sleigh, I know it is ! Shall I begin to 
make the waffles ? " 

"No, indeed; but you can get out that chiny 
thing your mother bought to put the maple sirup 

"Oh, I forgot that." 

She brought it out immediately, and it must 
have been the only thing she had forgotten when 
she set the table, for she had walked anxiously 
around it, twenty times at least, since she put the 
last plate in its place. 

Faint and far, from away down the road, be- 
yond the turn, the winter wind brought up the 
merry jingle of the bells. By the time Pen had 
obtained the china pitcher for the sirup from its 
shelf in the closet and once more darted to the 
window, she could see her father's black team, 
blacker than ever against the snow, trotting to- 
ward the house magnificently. 

" Don't I wish I 'd gone with them ! " she sighed. 
" But it was Corry's turn. I guess Susie is n't used 
to waffles, but she can't help liking them." 

That was quite possible, but her appreciation of 
them would probably depend upon whether Pen- 
elope or Aunt Judith should have the care of the 

Jingle-jangle-jingle, louder and louder came the 
merry bells, till they stopped at the great gate, 
and a tall boy sprang out of the sleigh to open it. 
The front door of the house swung open quicker 
than did the gate, and Pen was on the stoop, 
shouting anxiously: 

" Did they come, Corry ? Did you get them ?" 

A deep voice from the sleigh responded, with a 
chuckle : 

" Yes, Pen, we caught them both. They 're 
right here and they can't get away now." 

" I see Cousin Susie 1 " was Pen's response as 
she rushed toward the sleigh, at that moment 
remembering, however, to turn and shout back 
into the house: "Aunt Judith, here they are! 
They 're both in the sleigh ! " 

But there was her aunt already in the door-way, 
with the steaming waffle-irons in one hand. 

" Sakes alive, child! You'll freeze the whole 
house if you leave the door open ! Poor things — 
and thev are n't used to cold weather ! " 

i88 3 .) 

W I N T E R F U N . 


Aunt Judith must have had an idea that it was 
always summer in the city. 

The sleigh jangled right up to the bottom step 
of the stoop, now, and Mr. Farnham sprang out 
first and then his wife. They were followed by a 
young lady into whose arms Pen fairly jumped, 
exclaiming : 

" Susie ! Susie Hudson ! " 

There were no signs of frost on Susie's rosy- 
cheeks, and she hugged Penelope vigorously. Just 
behind her there descended from the sleigh, in a 
rather more dignified style, a boy who may have 
been two years younger, say fourteen or fifteen, and 
who evidently felt that the occasion called upon 
him for his self-possession. 

" Pen," said her mother, " don't you mean to 
kiss Cousin Porter ? " 

Pen was ready. Her little hands went out, and 
her bright welcoming face was lifted for the kiss, 
which Porter Hudson bestowed in gallant fashion. 
Susie had paid her country cousins a long summer 
visit only the year before, while Porter had not 
been seen by any of them since he was four years 
old. Both he and they had forgotten that he had 
ever been so young as that. 

Mr. Farnham started for the barn with his team, 
bidding Corry accompany his cousins into the house, 
and Aunt Judith was at last able to close the door 
behind them and keep a little of the winter from 
coming in. 

It took but half a minute to help Susie and 
Porter Hudson "get their things off," and then 
Aunt Judith all but forced them into the chairs she 
had set for them in front of the great fire-place. 

"What a splendid fire !" exclaimed Susie, the 
glow of it making her very pretty face look brighter 
and happier. She had already won Aunt Judith's 
heart over again by being so glad to see her, and 
she kept right on winning it needlessly, for every- 
thing about that room had to be looked at twice. 
and admired, and informed how "pretty" or 
"lovely" or " nice " it was. 

" It is, indeed, a remarkably fine fire," added 
Porter, with emphasis. 

"And we're going to have waffles and maple 
sugar for supper," said Pen. "Don't you like 
waffles ? " 

" Yes, indeed ! " said Porter. 

" And after such a sleigh-ride," chimed in Susie. 
" The sleighing is splendid ! Delightful ! " 

"Is n't there more snow here than you have in 
the city?" inquired Corry of Porter. 

"Yes, a little," he acknowledged. "But then 
we have to have ours removed as fast as it comes 
down. We must get it out of the way, you know." 

"It isn't in the way, here; we 'd have a high 
time of it, if we tried to get rid of our snow." 

" I should say you would. And then it does 
very well, where the people make use of sleighs." 

" Don't you have them in the city? " exclaimed 
Pen, who was looking at her cousin with eyes that 
were full of pity; but at that moment Aunt Judith 
called to her, from the kitchen : 

" Penelope ! Come and watch the waffle-irons, 
while I make the tea." 

'• Waffles ! " exclaimed Susie. " I never saw any- 
made. " 

" Come with me, then," said Pen. " I '11 show 
you. That is, if you 're warm enough." 

' ' Warm ? " echoed Susie. ' ' Why, I was n't cold, 
one bit. I 'm warm as toast." 

Out they went, and there were so many errands 
on the hands of Aunt Judith and Mrs. Farnham. 
just then, that the girls had the kitchen stove to 
themselves for a few moments. Pen may have been 
several years the younger, but she was conscious 
of a feeling of immense superiority in her capacity 
of cook. She kept it until, as she was going over, 
for Susie's benefit, a list of her neighbors and tell- 
ing what had become of them since her cousin's 
summer visit, Mr. Farnham came in at the kitchen 
door and almost instantly exclaimed: 

" Mind your waffles, Pen ! They 're burning ! " 

" Why, so they are. That one is, just a little. 
I was telling Susie " 

"A little? My child!" interrupted Aunt Ju- 
dith. " Why, it 's burned to a crisp ! Oh, dear ! 
Give me those irons." 

" Now, Aunt Judith," pleaded Pen, "please fill 
them up for Susie to try. I want to show her how." 

The look on Susie's face was quite enough to 
keep Aunt Judith from uttering a word of objec- 
tion, and the rich, creamy batter was poured into 
the smoking mold. 

" Don't let it burn, Susie, "cautioned Pen. "They 
must come out when they 're just a good brown. 
I '11 show you." 

Susie set herself to watch the fate of that waffle 
most diligently, but she had not at all counted on 
what might come in the meantime. 

A visitor, for instance. 

Susie had already asked about the Stebbinses, 
and Pen had answered : 

" They know you're coming. Yosh was here 
this very morning, and I told him." 

Only a few minutes before Aunt Judith poured 
out that waffle, Mrs. Stebbins had said to her 
son : 

" I heerd the Deacon's sleigh Come up the road, 
Lavaujer. Take a tea-cup and go over and borry 
a little tea from Miss Farnham. And tell me how 
the city folks look, when you come back." 

She told him a great deal more than that before 
he got out of the door with his tea-cup, and it 




looked as if he were likely to have several ques- 
tions to answer when he returned. 

He escaped a little unceremoniously, in the 
middle of a long sentence ; and so, just when Susie 
was most deeply absorbed in her experiment, there 
came a loud rap at the kitchen door. Then, with- 
out waiting for any one to come and open it, the 
door swung back and in walked Vosh as large as 
life, with the tea-cup in his hand. 

He did look large, but no amount of frost or fire 
could have made him color as red as he did when 
Susie Hudson left the irons and stepped forward to 
shake hands with him. 

" How do you do, Vosh ? How is your mother?" 

" Pretty well, thank you. How do you do ? 
Mother 's very well, thank you. And you 're just 
as you were last summer, only prettier." 

The one great weakness in the character of Vosh 
Stebbins was that he could not help telling the 
truth, to save his life. It was very awkward for him 
sometimes, and now, before Susie could smother 
her laugh and make up her mind what to answer 
him, he held out his tea-cup to Aunt Judith : 

" Miss Farnham, Mother told me to borrow a 
drawing of tea. We 're not out of tea, but she heard 
the Deacon's sleigh-bells, and she wanted to know 
if the folks from the city had come." 

" They 've come," almost snapped Aunt Judith. 
" Susie and her brother. Please ask your mother 
if she can send me over a dozen eggs." 

" We '11 send them over in a fen- minutes," said 

" Walk into the sitting-room, Vosh, and see our 
other cousin," said Pen. " Corry 's there, too. O 
Susie ! Our waffle 's burned again ! " 

" Dear me, so it has ! " 

•' Never mind, Susie," said Aunt Judith, hos- 
pitably, as she shook out the proceeds of all that 
cookery upon a plate. •' It 's only spoiled on one 
side. There 're always some o' them burned. Some 
folks like them better when they 're crisp." 

Vosh looked as if he would willingly stay and 
see how the next trial succeeded ; but politeness 
required him to walk on into the sitting-room and 
be introduced to Porter Hudson. 

"Vosh," said Corry, "Porter 's never been in the 
country in winter, before, in all his life, and he 's 
come to stay ever. so long." 

" That 's good," began Vosh, but he was inter- 

rupted by an invitation from Mrs. Farnham to 
stay to supper and eat some waffles. He verv 
promptly replied : 

" Thank you, 1 don't care if I do. I threw our 
waffle-irons at Bill Flinks's dog, one day last fall. 
It almost killed him, but it broke the irons, and 
we 've been intending to have them mended, ever 
since. We have n't done it yet, though, and so 
we haven't had any waffles." 

Aunt Judith had now taken hold of the business 
at the kitchen stove, for Susie had made one tri- 
umphant success and she might not do as well 
next time. All the rest were summoned to the 
supper table. 

The room was all one glow of light and warmth. 
The maple sugar had been melted to the exact 
degree of richness required. The waffles were 
coming in rapidly and in perfect condition. Every- 
body had been hungry and felt more so now, and 
even Porter Hudson was compelled to confess that 
the first supper of his winter visit in the country 
was at least equal to any he could remember eat- 
ing anywhere. 

" City folks," remarked Penelope, " don't know 
how to cook waffles, but I 'II teach Susie. Then 
she can make them for you when you go back. 
Only you can't do it without milk and eggs." 

" We can buy them," replied Porter. 

" Of course you can, only they are not such 
eggs as we have. You '11 have to send up here 
for your maple sugar." 

"We can buy that, too, I guess." 

" But we get it fresh from the trees. It 's very 
different from the kind you buy in the city. You 
ought to be here in sugar time." 

" Pen," said her father, " we 're going to keep 
them both till then, and make them ever so sweet 
before we let them go home." 

He was glancing rapidly from one to another of 
those four fresh young faces, as he spoke. He did 
not say so ; but he was tracing that very curious 
thing which we call "a family likeness. " It was 
there, widely as the faces varied otherwise. Per- 
haps the city cousins, with special help from Susie, 
had a little advantage in looks. But then Aunt 
Judith had had the naming of her brother's chil- 
dren, and Penelope and Coriolanus were longer 
names than Porter and Susan. There is a good 
deal in names, if they are rightly shortened. 

(To be continued.) 

i88 3 .J 


By Mary L. B. Branch. 

I AM learning how to sew," said an eager little maid ; 
" I push the needle in and out, and make the stitches strong; 
I 'm sewing blocks of patchwork for my dolly's pretty bed, 
And Mamma says, the way I work it will not take me long. 

It 's over and over — do you know 

How over-and-over stitches go ? 

I have begun a handkerchief: Mamma turned in the edge, 

And basted it with a pink thread to show me where to sew. 
It has Greenaway children on it stepping staidly by a hedge ; 

I look at them when I get tired, or the needle pricks, you know. 
And that is the way I learn to hem 
With hemming stitches — do you know them? 

Next I shall learn to run, and darn, and back-stitch, too. I guess, 

It would n't take me long, I know, if 't was n't for the thread; 
But the knots keep coming, and besides — I shall have to confess — 
Sometimes I slip my thimble off, and use my thumb instead ! 
When your thread knots, what do you do? 
And does it turn all brownish, too ? 

My papa, he 's a great big man, as much as six feet high ; 

He 's more than forty, and his hair has gray mixed with the black : 
Well, he can't sew ! he can't begin to sew as well as I. 
If he loses off a button, Mamma has to set it back ! 
You must n't think me proud, you know, 
But I am seven, and I can sew ! " 


S O PHI E S S E C R E T . 



By Louisa M. Alcott. 

A PARTY of young girls, in their gay bathing 
dresses, were sitting on the beach waiting for the 
tide to ris» a little higher before they enjoyed the 
daily frolic which they called " mermaiding. " 

" I wish we could have a clam-bake, but we 
have n't any clams, and don't know how to cook 
them if we had. It 's such a pity all the boys have 
gone off on that stupid fishing excursion," said 
one girl in a yellow-and-black striped suit which 
made her look like a wasp. 

" What is a clam-bake ? I do not know that 
kind of fete," asked a pretty brown-eyed girl, with 
an accent that betrayed the foreigner. 

The girls laughed at such sad ignorance, and 
Sophie colored, wishing she had not spoken. 

"Poor thing! she has never tasted a clam. 
What should we do if we went to Switzerland?" 
said the wasp, who loved to tease. 

"We should give you the best we had, and not 
laugh at your ignorance, if you did not know all 
our dishes. In my country, we have politeness 
though not the clam-bake," answered Sophie, with 
a flash of the brown eyes which warned naughty 
Di to desist. 

" We might row to the light-house, and have a 
picnic supper. Our mammas will let us do that 
alone," suggested Dora from the roof of the bath- 
house, where she perched like a flamingo. 

"That's a good idea," cried Fanny, a slender 
brown girl who sat dabbling her feet in the water, 
with her hair streaming in the wind. " Sophie 
should see that, and get some of the shells she 
likes so much." 

" You are kind to think of me. I shall be glad 
to have a necklace of the pretty things as a sou- 
venir of this so charming place and my good 
friend," answered Sophie, with a grateful look at 
Fanny, whose many attentions had won the 
stranger's heart. 

"Those boys have n't left us a single boat, so 
we must dive off the rocks, and that is n't half 
so nice," said Di, to change the subject, being 
ashamed of her rudeness. 

"A boat is just coming round the Point; per- 
haps we can hire that and have some fun," cried 
Dora from her perch. " There is only a girl in it : 
I '11 hail her when she is near enough." 

Sophie looked about her to see where the hail 
was coming from ; but the sky was clear, and she 

waited to see what new meaning this word might 
have, not daring to ask for fear of another laugh. 

While the girls watch the boat float around the 
farther horn of the crescent -shaped beach, we 
shall have time to say a few words about our little 

She was a sixteen-year-old Swiss girl, on a visit 
to some American friends, and had come to the 
sea-side for a month with one of them who was an 
invalid. This left Sophie to the tender mercies of 
the young people, and they gladly welcomed the 
pretty creature, with her fine manners, foreign 
ways, and many accomplishments. But she had 
a quick temper, a funny little accent, and dressed 
so very plainly that the girls could not resist criti- 
cising and teasing her in a way that seemed very 
ill-bred and unkind to the new-comer. 

Their free and easy ways astonished her, their 
curious language bewildered her, and their igno- 
rance of many things she had been taught made 
her wonder at the American education she had 
heard so much praised. All had studied French 
and German, yet few read or spoke either tongue 
correctly or understood her easily when she tried 
to talk to them. Their music did not amount to 
much, and in the games they played their want 
of useful information amazed Sophie. One did 
not know the signs of the zodiac; another could 
only say of cotton that "it was stuff that grew 
down South " ; and a third was not sure whether a 
frog was an animal or a reptile, while the hand- 
writing and spelling displayed on these occasions 
left much to be desired. Yet all were fifteen or 
sixteen, and would soon leave school "finished," 
as they expressed it, but not furnished, as they 
should have been, with a solid, sensible education. 
Dress was an all-absorbing topic, sweetmeats their 
delight, and in confidential moments sweethearts 
were discussed with great freedom. Fathers 
were conveniences, mothers comforters, brothers 
plagues, and sisters ornaments or playthings ac- 
cording to their ages. They were not hard- 
hearted girls, only frivolous, idle, and fond of fun, 
and poor little Sophie amused them immensely 
till they learned to admire, love, and respect her. 

Coming straight from Paris, they expected to 
find that her trunks contained the latest fashions 
for demoiselles, and begged to see her dresses 
with girlish interest. But when Sophie obligingly 
showed a few simple but pretty and appropriate 
gowns and hats, they exclaimed with one voice : 




"Why, you dress like a little girl! Don't 
you have ruffles and lace on your dresses? and 
silks and high-heeled boots, and long gloves, and 
bustles and corsets, and things like ours ? " 

" I am a little girl," laughed Sophie, hardly 
understanding their dismay. " What should I do 
with fine toilettes at school? My sisters go to 
balls in silk and lace ; but I — not yet." 

"How queer! Is your father poor? " asked Di, 
with Yankee bluntness. 

" We have enough," answered Sophie, slightly 
knitting her dark brows. 

" How many servants do you keep ? " 

"But five, now that the little ones are grown 

" Have you a piano?" continued undaunted Di, 
while the others affected to be looking at the 
books and pictures strewn about by the hasty un- 

" We have two pianos, four violins, three flutes, 
and an organ. We love music and all play, from 
Papa to little Franz." 

" My gracious, how swell ! You must live in a 
big house to hold all that and eight brothers and 

" We are not peasants ; we do not live in a hut. 
Voila, this is my home." And Sophie laid before 
them a fine photograph of a large and elegant 
house on lovely Lake Geneva. 

It was droll to see the change in the faces of the 
girls as they looked, admired, and slyly nudged 
one another, enjoying saucy Di's astonishment, 
for she had stoutly insisted that the Swiss girl was 
a poor relation. 

Sophie meanwhile was folding up her plain 
pique and muslin frocks, with a glimmer of mirth- 
ful satisfaction in her eyes and a tender pride in 
the work of loving hands now far away. 

Kind Fanny saw a little quiver of the lips as she 
smoothed the blue corn-flowers in the best hat, 
and put her arm round Sophie, whispering: 

" Never mind, dear, they don't mean to be 
rude ; it 's only our Yankee way of asking ques- 
tions. I like all your things, and that hat is 
perfectly lovely." 

" Indeed, yes ! Dear Mamma arranged it for me. 
I was thinking of her and longing for my morning 

" Do you do that every day ?" asked Fanny, for- 
getting herself in her sympathetic interest. 

" Surely, yes. Papa and Mamma sit always on 
the sofa, and we all have the hand-shake and the 
embrace each day before our morning coffee. I 
do not see that here," answered Sophie, who sorely 
missed the affectionate respect foreign children 
give their parents. 

" Have n't time," said Fanny, smiling too, at the 

idea of American parents sitting still for five min- 
utes in the busiest part of the busy day to kiss their 
sons and daughters. 

" It is what you call old-fashioned, but a sweet 
fashion to me, and since I have not the dear, warm 
cheeks to kiss, I embrace my pictures often. See, 
I have them all." And Sophie unfolded a Russia 
leather case, displaying with pride a long row of 
handsome brothers and sisters with the parents in 
the midst. 

More exclamations from the girls, and increased 
interest in " Wilhelmina Tell," as they christened 
the loyal Swiss maiden, who was now accepted as 
a companion, and soon became a favorite with old 
and young. 

They could not resist teasing her. however — her 
mistakes were so amusing, her little flashes of 
temper so dramatic, and her tongue so quick to 
give a sharp or witty answer when the new lan- 
guage did not perplex her. But Fanny always 
took her part and helped her in many ways. Now 
they sat together on the rock, a pretty pair of mer- 
maids with wind-tossed hair, wave-washed feet, 
and eyes fixed on the approaching boat. 

The girl who sat in it was a great contrast to the 
gay creatures grouped so picturesquely on the 
shore, for the old straw hat shaded a very anxious 
face, the brown calico gown covered a heart full of 
hopes and fears, and the boat that drifted so slowly 
with the incoming tide carried Tilly Reed like a 
young Columbus toward the new world she longed 
for, believed in, and was resolved to discover. 

It was a weather-beaten little boat, yet very 
pretty, for a pile of nets lay at one end, a creel of 
red lobsters at the other, and all between stood 
baskets of berries and water-lilies, purple marsh- 
rosemary and orange butterfly-weed, shells and 
great smooth stones such as artists like to paint 
little sea-views on. A tame gull perched on the 
prow, and the morning sunshine glittered from 
the blue water to the bluer sky. 

" Oh, how pretty ! Come on, please, and sell 
us some lilies," cried Dora, and roused Tilly from 
her waking dream. 

Pushing back her hat, she saw the girls beckon- 
ing, felt that the critical moment had come, and 
catching up her oars rowed bravely on, though her 
cheeks reddened and her heart beat, for this vent- 
ure was her last hope, and on its success depended 
the desire of her life. As the boat appioached, 
the watchers forgot its cargo to look with surprise 
and pleasure at its rower, for she was not the 
rough, country lass they expected to see, but a 
really splendid girl of fifteen, tall, broad-shoul- 
dered, bright-eyed and blooming, with a certain shy 
dignity of her own, and a very sweet smile, as she 
nodded and pulled in with strong, steady strokes. 

i8S 3 .J 



Before they could offer help, she had risen, planted 
an oar in the water, and, leaping to the shore, 
pulled her boat high up on the beach, offering her 
wares with wistful eyes and a very expressive wave 
of both brown hands. 

" Everything is for sale, if you '11 buy," said she. 

Charmed with the novelty of this little advent- 
ure, the girls, after scampering to the bathing- 
houses for purses and porte-monnaies, crowded 
around the boat like butterflies about a thistle, 
all eager to buy, and to discover who this bonny 
fisher-maiden might be. 

" Oh, see these beauties ! " "A dozen lilies for 
me ! " " All the yellow flowers for me, they '11 be 
so becoming at the dance to-night ! " "Ow! that 
lob bites awfully ! " " Where do you come from ? " 
" Why have we never seen you before ? " 

These were some of the exclamations and ques- 
tions showered upon Tilly as she filled little birch- 
bark panniers with berries, dealt out flowers, or 
dispensed handfuls of shells. Her eyes shone, her 
cheeks glowed, her heart danced in her bosom, for 
this was a better beginning than she had dared to 
hope for, and as the dimes tinkled into the tin pail 
she used for her till, it was the sweetest music she 
had ever heard. This hearty welcome banished 
her shyness, and in these eager, girlish customers 
she found it easy to confide. 

" I 'm from the light-house. You have never 
seen me because I never came before, except with 
fish for the hotel. But I mean to come every day, 
if folks will buy my things, for I want to make 
some money, and this is the only way in which I 
can do it." 

Sophie glanced at the old hat and worn shoes 
of the speaker, and, dropping a bright half-dollar 
into the pail, said in her pretty way : 

" For me all these lovely shells. I will make 
necklaces of them for my people at home as sou- 
venirs of this charming place. If you will bring 
me more, I shall be much grateful to you." 

" Oh, thank you ! I '11 bring heaps ; I know 
where to. find beauties in places where other folks 
can't go. Please take these — you paid too much 
for the shells," and quick to feel the kindness of 
the stranger, Tilly put into her hands a little bark 
canoe heaped with red raspberries. 

Not to be outdone by the foreigner, the other 
girls emptied their purses and Tilly's boat also of 
all but the lobsters, which were ordered for the 

" Is that jolly bird for sale?" asked Di, as the 
last berry vanished, pointing to the gull who was 
swimming near them while the chatter went on. 

" If you can catch him," laughed Tilly, whose 
spirits were now the gayest of the part)-. 

The girls dashed into the water and, with shrieks 

of merriment, swam away to capture the gull, who 
paddled off as if he enjoyed the fun as much as 

Leaving them to splash vainly to and fro, Tilly 
swung the creel to her shoulder and went off to 
leave her lobsters, longing to dance and sing to the 
music of the silver clinking in her pocket. 

When she came back, the bird was far out of 
reach and the girls diving from her boat, which 
they had launched without leave. Too happy to 
care what happened now, Tilly threw herself down 
on the warm sand to plan a new and still finer 
cargo for next day. 

Sophie came and sat beside her while she dried 
her curly hair, and in five minutes her sympa- 
thetic face and sweet ways had won Tilly to tell 
all her hopes and cares and dreams. 

" I want schooling, and I mean to have it. I 've 
got no folks of my own, and Uncle has married 
again ; so he does n't need me now. If I only had a 
little money, I could go to school somewhere, and 
take care of myself. Last summer I worked at 
the hotel, but I did n't make much, and had to 
have good clothes, and that took my wages pretty 
much. Sewing is slow work, and baby-tending 
leaves me no time to study ; so I 've kept on at 
home picking berries and doing what I could to 
pick up enough to buy books. Aunt thinks I 'm a 
fool ; but L T ncle, he says, ' Go ahead, girl, and see 
what you can do.' And I mean to show him ! " 

Tilly's brown hand came down on the sand with 
a resolute thump, and her clear young eyes looked 
bravely out across the wide sea, as if far away in 
the blue distance she saw her hope happily ful- 

Sophie's eyes shone approval, for she understood 
this love of independence and had come to Amer- 
ica because she longed for new scenes and greater 
freedom than her native land could give her. Edu- 
cation is a large word, and both girls felt that 
desire for self-improvement that comes to all ener- 
getic natures. Sophie had laid a good foundation, 
but still desired more, while Tilly was just climb- 
ing up the first steep slope which rises to the 
heights few attain, yet all may strive for. 

"That is beautiful! You will do it ! I am 
glad to help you if I may. See, I have many 
books, will you take some of them ? Come to my 
room to-morrow and take what will best please 
you. We will say nothing of it, and it will make 
me a truly great pleasure." 

As Sophie spoke, her little white hand touched 
the strong, sunburned one that turned to meet and 
grasp hers with grateful warmth, while Tilly's face 
betrayed the hunger that possessed her, for it 
looked as a starving girl's would look when offered 
a generous meal. 




" I will come. Thank you so much ! I don't 
know anything, but just blunder along and do the 
best I can. 1 got so discouraged I was real des- 
perate, and thought 1 'd have one try and see if 
I could n't earn enough to get books to study this 
winter. Folks buy berries at the cottages, so I 
just added flowers and shells, and I'm going to 
bring my boxes of butterflies, birds' eggs, and sea- 
weeds. I 've got lots of such things, and people 
seem to like spending money down here. 1 often 
wish 1 had a little of what they throw away." 

Tilly paused with a sigh, then laughed as an 
impatient movement caused a silver clink; and 
slapping her pocket, she added gayly: 

" I wont blame 'cm if they '11 only throw their 
money in here." 

Sophie's hand went involuntarily toward her 
own pocket, where lay a plump purse, for Papa 

about the boat as long as they dared, making a 
pretty tableau for the artists on the rocks, then 
swam to shore, more than ever eager for the picnic 
on Light-house Island. 

They went, and had a merry time, while Tilly 
did the honors and showed them a room full of 
treasures gathered from earth, air, and water, for 
she led a lonely life, and found friends among the 
fishes, made playmates of the birds, and studied 
rocks and flowers, clouds and waves, when books 
were wanting. 

The girls bought gulls' wings for their hats, 
queer and lovely shells, eggs and insects, sea- weeds 
and carved wood, and for their small brothers, 
birch baskets and toy ships, made by Uncle Hiram, 
who had been a sailor. 

When Tilly had sold nearly everything she pos- 
sessed (for Fanny and Sophie bought whatever the 


was generous, and simple Sophie had few wants. 
But something in the intelligent face opposite 
made her hesitate to offer, as a gift, what she felt 
sure Tilly would refuse, preferring to earn her 
education if she could. 

" Come often,' then, and let me exchange these 
stupid bills for the lovely things you bring. We 
will come this afternoon to see you if we may, and 
I shall like the butterflies. I try to catch them; but 
people tell me I am too old to run, so I have not 

Proposed in this way, Tilly fell into the little 
trap, and presently rowed away with all her might 
to set her possessions in order, and put her precious 
earnings in a safe place. The mermaids clung 

others declined), she made a fire of drift-wood on 
the rocks, cooked fish for supper, and kept them 
till moonrise, telling sea stories or singing old songs, 
as if she could not do enough for these good fairies 
who had come to her when life looked hardest and 
the future very dark. Then she rowed them home, 
and, promising to bring loads of fruit and flowers 
every day, went back along a shining road, to find 
a great bundle of books in her dismantled room, 
and to fall asleep with wet eyelashes and a happy 


For a month Tilly went daily to the Point with 
a cargo of pretty merchandise, for her patrons in- 


2 9 

creased, and soon the ladies engaged her berries, 
the boys ordered boats enough to supply a navy, 
the children clamored for shells, and the girls de- 
pended on her for bouquets and garlands for the 
dances that ended every summer day. Uncle 
Hiram's fish was in demand when such a comely 
saleswoman offered it, so he let Tilly have her way, 
glad to see the old tobacco-pouch in which she kept 
her cash fill fast with well-earned money. 

She really began to feel that her dream was com- 
ing true, and she would be able to go to the town and 
study in some great school, eking out her little 
fund with light work. The other girls soon lost 
their interest in her, but Sophie never did, and 
many a book went to the island in the empty bas- 
kets, many a helpful word was said over the lilies or 
wild honeysuckle Sophie loved to wear, and many a 
lesson was given in the bare room in the light-house 
tower which no one knew about but the gulls and 
the sea winds sweeping by the little window where 
the two heads leaned together over one page. 

'• You will do it, Tilly, I am very sure. Such a 
will and such a memory will make a way for you, 
and one day I shall see you teaching as you wish. 
Keep the brave heart, and all will be well with 
you," said Sophie when the grand breaking-up 
came in September, and the girls were parting 
down behind the deserted bath-houses. 

"Oh, Miss Sophie, what should I have done 
without you ? Don't think I have n't seen and 
known all the kind things you have said and done 
for me. I '11 never forget 'em, and I do hope I '11 
be able to thank you some day," cried grateful 
Tilly, with tears in her clear eyes that seldom wept 
over her own troubles. 

" I am thanked if you do well. Adieu, write to 
me, and remember always that I am your friend." 

Then they kissed with girlish warmth and Tilly 
rowed away to the lonely island, while Sophie 
lingered on the shore, her handkerchief fluttering 
in the wind, till the boat vanished and the waves 
had washed away their foot-prints on the sand. 

(To be concluded.) 


By Phil o' Gelos. 

There was an old man in Birtleby-town, 
Who chose to live down in a well ; 

But why he lived there, in Birtleby-town, 
Was never a man could tell. 

The reason we 'd never have known to this day, 
Had not the old gentleman told : 

He said he was cool when the weather was hot, 
And warm when the weather was cold. 

A bucket he had to draw himself up, 

A bucket to let himself down ; 
So, perhaps, he was either the silliest man, 

Or the wisest, in Birtleby-town, 

By John R. Coryell. 

Far away to the north of us stretches a land 
white with snow during most of the year, where 
bleak winds in unobstructed fury sweep over de- 
serted wastes ; where night hangs like a somber 
cloud for months and months unbroken, and where 
those crystal mountains called icebergs are born. 
There is the home of the polar hare. There, where 
man aimlessly wanders in a vain search for food 
or shelter, this dainty creature thrives. 

Excepting the Irishman's hare, which was no 

hare at all, but a donkey, the polar hare is the 
largest of the long-eared tribe. It equals the fox in 
size, and will sometimes reach the height of a man's 
knee. Being so large, and, moreover, being found 
as far north as ever man has been able to go, it is 
often the means of saving the lives of unfortunate 
explorers or whalers who have been imprisoned by 
the ice so long that their supply of provisions has 
given out. 

Strangely enough, however, it sometimes hap- 




pens that men are overtaken by starvation in the 
midst of numbers of polar hares. This is because 
the little creature has a peculiarity which makes it 
difficult for the inexperienced hunter to shoot it. 

When approached, it seems to have no fear at 
all, but sits up, apparently waiting for the coming 
hunter. Just, however, as the probably hungry 
man begins to finger the trigger of his gun, and to 
eat in anticipation the savory stew, the hare turns 
about and bounds actively away to a safe distance, 
and, once more rising upon its haunches, sits with 
a provoking air of seeming unconsciousness until 
the hunter is again nearly within gun-shot, when 
it once more jumps away. 

This must be tantalizing enough to a well-fed 
sportsman, but how heart-breaking to the man who 
knows that not only his own life, but the lives of 
all his comrades as well, depends upon the capture 
of the pretty creature whose action seems like the 
cruelest of coquetry, though, in fact, it is only the 
working of the instinct of self-preservation common 
to every animal. 

Notwithstanding, however, the apparent impos- 
sibility of approaching near enough to the hare to 
shoot it, there is in reality a very simple way to 
accomplish it. This plan is practiced by the na- 
tives, who no doubt have learned it after many a 
hungry failure. It consists in walking in a circle 
around the animal, gradually narrowing the circle 
until within the proper distance. Simple as this 
plan is, it is so effective that, with care, the hunter 
may get within fifty yards of the hare, which seems 
completely bewildered by the circular course of its 

Perhaps the sad story of the heroic suffering and 
final loss of Captain De Long and his brave com- 
rades might never have had to be told, had it not 
been for their probable ignorance of a matter of no 
more importance than this of how to shoot a polar 
hare. When they left their ship, the " Jeannette," 
they took with them only rifles, thinking, no doubt, 
that they would fall in with only such large game 
as bears, reindeer, and wolves. 

As a matter of fact, such large animals were very 
scarce, while ptarmigan, a species of grouse, were 
plentiful, and would have supplied food in abun- 
dance to the whole brave band had there been shot- 
guns with which to shoot them. As it was, the rifles 
brought down but a few of the birds, and thus, in 
the midst of comparative plenty, the brave fellows 

Since the ground is covered with snow such a 
great part of the year, it might be imagined that 
the hare would find it no easy matter to procure 
its food. Fortunately for it, however, an evergreen 
bush, known as the Labrador tea-plant, is scattered 
throughout these regions, and seeking this in the 

snow, the creature makes a grateful meal upon it. 
At other times, the bark of the dwarf willow affords 
it a dainty repast. 

Not only in the matter of food is the polar hare 
suited to its bleak, snowy home. Human beings 
who live in the same latitude have found it neces- 
sary to make for themselves broad, flat, light frames 
which they call snow-shoes, to enable them to move 
about on the feathery material into which they 
would otherwise sink over their heads at times. 
Nature has done the same thing for the hare when 
it gives it the broad, long, fur-clad hind legs, upon 
the lower joints of which the animal rests, and from 
which it springs. 

Its body is protected from the bitter cold by long, 
soft, and thick fur, and as, even in its lonely home, 
it has enemies, this same fur, by a simple yet most 
ingenious plan, is made to serve as a means of 

The golden eagle and the snowy owl are both 
particularly fond of the pretty creature, but it is a 
fondness which the hare has no desire to encourage, 
and therefore, when it spies one of these great birds 
sailing through the air, with its sharp eyes search- 
ing about for something to devour, it instantly 
sinks upon the snow as motionless as if dead, and, 
thanks to the whiteness of its fur, it can hardly be 
distinguished from the material it rests upon. This 
same snowy fur which protects it in winter would, 
however, as surely betray it in summer, when the 
snow is gone ; so the little creature changes its 
white winter coat for a brown one as soon as the 
short spring has cleared the ground, and thus it is 
still made to resemble its surroundings. 

Still another provision is necessary to enable the 
hare to exist in its chosen home. It must have 
eyes arranged so that it can see during the long 
night of winter ; and it is wonderful to find that its 
eyes are not fitted for total darkness, but for twi- 
light ; for the aurora borealis, which glows almost 
continuously in the arctic heavens, dispels the com- 
plete darkness that would otherwise exist, and 
makes a sort of twilight. 

There is scarcely any animal that can not be 
tamed if properly treated, and the polar hare is no 
exception to the rule. Indeed, its gentle disposi- 
tion makes it a very easy subject, and consequently 
it has not only been tamed for a pet, but even 
domesticated and kept for food. 

Captain Ross, the great arctic explorer, caught 
a young one which had come, with a number of 
others, to eat the tea-leaves which had been thrown 
overboard from the ship on the ice. This hare he 
tamed and made such a pet of that it spent most 
of its time in his cabin. There it would sit, with a 
solemn air, listening to the conversation that was 
going on as if it understood every word, and when 



the conversation was over it would leave the cabin 
with an air of having learned all that it wished to 

A story is told of a boy in Newfoundland who 
had two polar hares which he one day determined 
to harness to his sled. Gentle as the creature is, 
it has the utmost dislike of being touched, and so 
it was a long and tiresome struggle for Master 
Tom before he could induce the hares to submit 
to even the simple harness he had contrived. 
At last it was accomplished, however, and with 
little Miss Annie, his three-year-old sister, on 
the sled, Tom touched his pets 
with his whip. 

Poor little Annie 
must have 
had s 

the frightened animals, was also on its way down 
the incline, while Tom had started to run after 
Annie, but, losing his balance, had sat down, and 
was skimming along in the rear of the procession. 
When Tom picked Annie out of a snow-drift 
she was breathless with indignation and fright, 
but recovering herself in a few moments, de- 
clared with an emphatic stamp of her foot: 
"Don't want to yide yabbits any more." 
Nor did she have the opportunity, for Tom 
never saw his hares again, they having 
concluded, no doubt, that they were not 
fitted for that kind of work. Tom 
p would have tried the experi- 

ment again with An- 
nie's pet hare, 
but this that 


upon the 
tail of a comet 
going about a turn 
dred miles a minute, for no soon- 
er had the hares felt the whip 
than with one accord they started. 
And as the hare has but one way 
of going, and that is with a jump, 
and as Tom, to help matters, had 
headed them down a pretty steep 
hill, the sled was jerked from under 
Annie, who, being something like a very 
chubby barrel in shape, went after the flyin 
hares as fast as she could roll, over and over. 


;o allow, 

ing her 

ward, in 

ifidence, that he was 

nice yabbit, but not 

a good horsey." 

There is a use to which the polar 
hare, or more properly its fur, is 
put, which is certainly novel. The 
fur is so long that the Esquimaux 
women spin the hairs into thread, 
which they afterward knit into gloves. 
Captain Ross, the celebrated arctic ex- 
plorer, had such a pair of gloves made for him, 
and says they rivaled Angora wool in whiteness, 

The sled, too, being free at the second jump of and surpassed it in softness. 

3 2 



By M. M. Gow. 

I 'M going to tell you 

a story — 
It 's nice, I know you 
'11 say ; 

Not an old tale 
Worn out and 
stale — 
I made it myself, to- 

There was once a bee-_y<w-tiful princess 
Oh, ever so long ago ! 

When fairies and kings 

And all such things 
Were common enough, you know. 

And oh, she was awfully lovely ! 
With eyes as blue as the sky; 

Slender and fair, 

With long, light hair, 
And about as big as I. 

But oh, she was awful unhappy ! 
Arid if ever she smiled at all, 

'T was once in awhile, 

A weak little smile, 
When she played with her Paris doll. 

i88 3 .- 



For she had such terrible teachers ! 

And lessons she could not bear ; 
And she hated to sew, 
And she hated — oh, 

She hated to comb her hair ! 

Well, one day, she wandered sadly 
In a dark and dismal dell ; 
When, do you know, 
She stubbed her toe, 
And tumbled into a well ! 

The well was wet and slimy, 
And dark and muddy and deep, 

But the frogs below 

They pitied her so, 
They scraped the mud in a heap. 

And then they clubbed together. 
And a toad-stool tall they made ; 

And safe on that 

The princess sat, 
And waited for mortal aid. 

And she, to keep from crying, 
And her anxious fears disable, 

Repeated fast, 

From first to last, 
Her multiplication-table. 

And all the songs and verses 
She had ever learned to say, 

Books she had read, 

Pieces she 'd said, 
And the lessons of yesterday. 

Now, a prince there came a-riding. 
In the forest thereabout ; 

When he saw the fair 

Maid sitting there, 
Of course, he helped her out. 

And, of course, they rode together, 
Till they reached the palace gate, 

Where they alighted, 

Their tale recited, 
And the wedding was held in state. 


By J. T. Trowbridge. 

The lives of authors are so often at variance 
with the spirit of their writings that it is always 
pleasant to learn that the poet is also a man of 
harmonious personal qualities ; that the novelist who 
makes us weep over his pathetic domestic scenes is 
a good husband and father ; and that the eloquent 
apostle of liberty is not a tyrant in his own house- 
hold. An interest of this sort attaches to the sub- 
ject of our sketch, and we shall be gratified to 
know that the author of " The Boy Hunters" and 
" The Rifle Rangers " was in youth a daring 

Of Captain Mayne Reid's boyhood we hear little, 
except that he was born in the North of Ireland in 
1819, of mixed Scotch and Irish parentage, and 
that his father, a Presbyterian minister, designed 
him also for the pulpit. What manner of home 
he had, and the sort of life the future traveler and 
writer lived there ; who were his associates, what 
his aspirations, his adventures, — for adventures he 
must certainly have had, — of all this we know- 
nothing, when we could wish to know so much. 
But it is fitting, perhaps, that this haze of obscurity 
should hang over the early years of the romancer, 
whose life is itself like a page of romance. 

Vol. XI. — 3. 

Of one thing we may be sure, that the clerical 
profession was not to the taste of the imaginative 
boy, whose brave dreams beckoned him from far 
away, and cast altogether too dazzling a light over 
the sober books he was set to study. And we are 
not surprised to find him. at the age of twenty, 
quitting his tutors and his tasks, to follow those 
bright visions over seas. 

Landing in New Orleans, he began a career of 
adventure in the wilds of America, the recol- 
lections of which stood him in good stead when 
he came to write the romances which flowed so 
copiously from his pen a few years later. Of this 
part of his career, also, we have no very definite 
information, except that he made two excursions 
up the Red River, hunting and trading with the 
Indians; that he, in like manner, ascended the 
Missouri and explored the vast prairies which the 
wave of civilization had not then reached. He 
afterward traveled extensively in the States, writ- 
ing descriptions of his journeys for the newspaper 

He was thus employed when, in 1S45, war be- 
tween the United States and Mexico broke out. 
and voting Reid threw himself ardently into the 




struggle as a volunteer. Joining a New York 
regiment, with a lieutenant's commission, he 
fought through the entire campaign, coming out 
of it with honorable wounds, a reputation for im- 
petuous bravery and generous good-fellowship, 
and the title of captain, by which the world has 
known him since. 

Two or three incidents of this memorable cam- 
paign serve to show the intrepid character of the 
young officer. 

When our army, under General Scott, on its 
victorious march to the Mexican capital was, after 
several battles, stopped at Churubusco by the 
enemy under Santa Anna, a bloody engagement 
took place (August 20, 1847) at the causeway and 
bridge over the little river, Mayne Reid's active 
part in which is described by a correspondent of 
the Detroit Free Press, and substantially corrob- 
orated by affidavits of members of his regiment. 

In the midst of the fight, at a moment of great 
uncertainty and confusion, when it was impossible 
to tell how the scale of battle would turn, Reid, 
then lieutenant, noticed a squadron of the enemy's 
lancers preparing to charge. Fearing the result 
to our broken and hesitating troops, he decided 
that it ought to be anticipated by a counter charge. 
As there was no superior officer of his own regi- 
ment on the spot to order such a movement, Reid 
hastened to the lieutenant-colonel of the South 
Carolina Volunteers, then in command, Colonel 
Butler having retired wounded from the field, and 
said to him : 

"Colonel, will you lead your men in a charge?" 

Before he could receive an answer, "he heard 
something snap," and the officer fell to his knees 
with one leg broken by a shot. As he was carried 
away, Reid exchanged a few words with the re- 
maining officers, then hurried back to his own 
men, calling out, as he rushed to the front of the 
line : 

" Soldiers ! will you follow me to the charge ? " 

" Ve vill ! " shouted Corporal Haup, a brave 
Swiss. The order was given, and away they went, 
with Haup and an Irishman named Murphy the 
first two after their leader, the South Carolina 
Volunteers joining in the charge. 

A broad ditch intervened between the causeway 
held by the enemy and the field across which the 
Americans were sweeping. Thinking this was not 
very deep, as it was covered by a green scum, 
Mayne Reid plunged into it. " It took him nearly 
up to the armpits," says the correspondent whose 
account we condense, "and as he struggled out, 
all over slime and mud, he was a sight for gods 
and men ! " and for our readers, if they can pict- 
ure him there, emerging from the ooze, and rush- 
ing on with waving sword, not the less a hero for 

the plight which seems ludicrous enough to us 
who have the leisure to smile at it. 

The leader's mishap served as a warning to his 
followers, and they avoided the plunge by taking a 
more roundabout course. The Mexicans, at sight 
of the advancing bayonets, did not wait, but took 
to their heels down the splendid road which led 
to the City of Mexico. As the pursuers gained 
the causeway, Phil Kearney's fine company of 
cavalry came thundering along on their dapple 
grays ; and Reid firmly believed that the city 
might that day have been taken, if a recall had 
not been sounded and the enemy given time to 
fortify a new line of defense, "the key of which 
was Chapultepec." 

The Castle of Chapultepec, commanding the 
great road to Mexico, was successfully stormed by 
our troops on the 13th of September. Of the part 
taken by Reid in that action we fortunately have 
an account written by himself, which appeared in 
the A T e n w York Tribune about a year ago, together 
with the printed testimony of several officers who 
witnessed his behavior on that occasion. 

Reid was in command of the grenadier company 
of New York Volunteers and a detachment of 
United States marines, with orders to guard a 
battery which they had thrown up on the south- 
eastern side of the castle on the night of the 
nth, and which had been hurling its crashing 
shot against the main gate throughout the 12th. 
The morning of the 13th was fixed for the assault, 
and a storming party had been formed of five hun- 
dred volunteers from various parts of the army. 
The batteries were ordered to cease firing at eleven 
o'clock, and the attack began. 

Reid and the artillery officers, standing by their 
guns, watched the advance of the line with intense 
anxiety, which became apprehension when they 
saw that about half-way up the slope there was a 
halt. " I "knew," he says in his account, " that if 
Chapultepec was not taken, neither would the city 
be ; and failing that, not a man of us might ever 
leave the valley of Mexico alive." This opinion 
he formed from the fact that the Mexicans had 
thirty thousand soldiers against our six thousand, 
and that a serious check to our advance would give 
them, and a host of hostile rancheros* in the coun- 
try around, all the advantages of position and 
overwhelming numbers. Whatever may be thought 
of his judgment from a military point of view, the 
decision he took was certainly a brave one. 

Asking leave of the senior engineer officer to 
join the storming party with his men, he obtained 
it with the words, " Go, and God be with you ! " 
He was off at once, with his volunteers and 
marines. After a quick run across the interven- 
ing ground, they came up with the storming 

* A Mexican term for herdsmen. 



party under the brow of the hill, where it had 
halted to await the scaling ladders. " At this 
point," says Lieutenant Marshall, of the Fifteenth 
Infantry, " the fire from the castle was so continu- 
ous and fatal that the men faltered, and several 
officers were wounded while urging them on. At 
this moment, I noticed Lieutenant Mayne Reid, 
of the New York Volunteers; I noticed him more 
particularly at the time on account of the very 
brilliant uniform he wore. He suddenly jumped 
to his feet, and calling upon those around to fol- 
low, and without looking around to see whether 
he was sustained or not, pushed on almost alone 
to the very walls." 

Reid's action was not quite so reckless as this 
account of an eye-witness would make it appear. 
The outer wall of the castle was commanded 
by three pieces of cannon on the parapet, which, 
loaded with grape and canister, fearfully deci- 
mated the ranks of the Americans at every dis- 
charge. To advance seemed certain death. But 
death seemed equally certain whether the as- 
sailants retreated or remained where they were. 
Such is his own explanation of his conduct. 

"Men ! " he shouted out, in a momentary lull 
of the conflict, "if we don't take Chapultepec, 
the American army is lost ! Let us charge up 
the walls ! " 

Voices answered : " We will charge if any 
one will lead us ! " " We 're ready ! " . 

Just then the three guns on the parapet roared 
almost simultaneously. It would be a little time 
before they could load and fire again. Reid 
seized the opportunity, and calling out, "Come 
on ! I '11 lead you !" leaped over the scarp that 
had temporarily sheltered them, and made the 
charge already described. 

There was no need, he says, to look back to 
see if he wa.s followed. He knew that his men 
would not have been there, unless prepared to 
go where he led. About half way up, he saw 
the parapet crowded with Mexican artillerists, 
on the point of discharging a volley. He avoided 
it by throwing himself on his face, receiving only 
a slight wound in his sword-hand, another shot 
cutting his clothing. Instantly on his feet again, 
he made for the wall, in front of which he was 
brought down by a Mexican ounce-ball tearing 
through his thigh. 

All the testimony goes to show that he was first 
before the wall of Chapultepec. Second was the 
brave Swiss, Corporal Haup, who also fell, shot 
through the face, tumbling forward over the bod)' 
of his officer. It was Reid's lieutenant, Hypolitc 
Dardonville, a young Frenchman, who afterward, 
mounting the scaling ladders with the foremost, 
tore down the Mexican flag from its staff. 

Before that, however, Reid was observed In 
Lieutenant Cochrane, of the Voltigeurs. Coch- 
rane was pushing for the castle with his men, 
when before him, scarcely ten yards from the wall, 
an officer of infantry and a comrade were shot and 
fell. " They were the only two at the time," he 
says in his statement, " whom 1 saw in advance of 
me on the rock upon which we were scrambling." 

Reaching the wall, Cochrane ordered two men 
"to go back a little way and assist the ladders 


up the hill." As they passed the spot where the 
wounded officer lay, he raised himself with evident 
pain, and sang out above the din and rattle of 
musketry, imploring the men to stand firm : 

" Don't leave that wall," he cried, "or we shall all 
be cut to pieces. Hold on, and the castle is ours ! " 

Cochrane answered, to re-assure him : ' There is 
no danger, Captain, of our leaving this ! Never 
fear!" Then the ladders came, the rush was 
made, and the castle fell. 

■■The wounded officer.'' Cochrane continues. 




'" proved to be Lieutenant Mayne Reid, of the 
New York Volunteers." 

Lieutenant Marshall, to whom we are indebted 
for that vivid glimpse of the young officer in " his 
very brilliant uniform," describes the effect pro- 
duced by the exploit, — all those who witnessed or 
knew of it pronouncing it, " without exception, the 
bravest and most brilliant achievement performed 
by a single individual during the campaign." 

These statements of Reid's fellow-officers (there- 
are others from which we have not quoted) were 
called out shortly after the close of the war by the 
question going the rounds of the newspapers, 
"Who was first at Chapultepec ? " Reid's own 
statement was in answer to some criticisms on his 
Mexican record by a newspaper correspondent, who 
admitted that he was foremost in the charge, yet 
attributed his action to a false motive. 

It was charged that Reid had previously, in the 
heat of passion, run his sword through the body of 
a soldier he was reprimanding for some offense, 
and that his conduct at Chapultepec was prompted 
by a remorseful desire to atone for that rash act. 

"It is quite true." Reid says, "that I ran a 
soldier through with my sword, and that he after- 
ward died of the wound : but it is absolutely 
untrue that there was any heat of temper on my 
part, or other incentive to the act than that of self- 
defense and the discharge of my duty as an officer. 
On the day of the occurrence I was an officer of 
the guard, and the man a prisoner in the guard- 
prison, where he spent most of his time ; for he 
was a noted desperado and, I may add, robber; long 
the pest and terror, not only of his comrades in 
the regiment, but the poor Mexican people, who 
suffered from his depredations." This man, hav- 
ing several times escaped, had that day been re- 
captured, and for his greater security Reid had 
ordered irons to be put upon his hands. He was 
a fellow of great strength, fierce and reckless; he 
had boasted that no officer should ever put him in 
irons ; and now that the attempt was made, clutch- 
ing the manacles and rushing upon Lieutenant 
Reid, he aimed a murderous blow with them at his 
head. The sword was too quick for him, and he 
rushed upon it, to his own hurt. 

That the act was considered justifiable is shown 
by the fact that the court-martial which investigated 
it acquitted Reid of misconduct, and ordered him 
to rejoin his regiment. That he felt a brave man's 
regret for the necessity which forced him to take 
the life of a fellow-man, we can readily believe. 
But why should that have caused him to risk his 
own at Chapultepec ? 

The war over, Captain Reid resigned his com- 
mission. But the spirit of adventure was roused in 
him again when the Hungarian struggle for free- 

dom enlisted the sympathies of liberty-loving 
people everywhere; and in 1849 he organized, in 
New York, a body of men to join it. He had 
arrived in Paris, on his way to Hungary, when 
news reached him of the failure of the insurrection. 

Reid then retired to England and settled down 
to literary work. " The Scalp Hunters," his first 
romance, was written largely from his own knowl- 
edge of the scenes it describes, and it had an imme- 
diate success. It was followed rapidly by others, 
drawn partly from recollection, partly from the 
observations of other travelers, and partly, it must 
be admitted, from his own audacious imagination. 
A man who had displayed such intrepidity with 
the sword could hardly be expected to lack cour- 
age in wielding the pen. You are following no 
timid leader when you enter the field of fiction, 
where the calculating rashness of his invention 
goes forward somewhat like the " very brilliant uni- 
form " that led the charge at Chapultepec. He 
takes you through regions where strange things 
happen — almost too strange and improbable, you 
sometimes say ; but this criticism serves rather to 
raise than to depreciate his books in the opinion 
of most boys. We can forgive some extravagance 
of incident and peculiarities of style in an author 
who evidently writes as he acts — with unhesitating 
boldness and decision. 

In the last letter written by the great African 
explorer, Livingstone, he says, " Captain Mayne 
Reid's boys' books arc the stuff to make travelers." 
There is, moreover, this to be said of them, that 
the frame-work of fact in which he sets his pictures 
can always be relied on as fact. Believe as much 
or as little as you please of the marvelous things 
that happen in his stories ; but be- sure that he 
has carefully gathered from the most trustworthy 
sources all that he has to tell you of natural his- 
tory, of the traits, manners, and habits of the 
strange people among whom his scenes are laid, 
and of the wonders of the countries themselves. 

Of Captain Mayne Reid's forty volumes of 
romances, nearly all have been reprinted in this 
country, and many have been translated into other 
languages. He is popular in Russia, where several 
of his tales have had a large circulation. No doubt, 
many readers of St. NICHOLAS have sat up nights 
over " The Desert Home," "The English Family 
Robinson," "The Forest Exiles," and "The Bush 
Boys " ; and those whose youthful recollections go 
back as far as the first volumes of " Our Young 
Folks," will remember " Afloat in the Forest," 
which delighted the early readers of that magazine. 

Captain Mayne Reid's home is in England, where 
he lives the life of a quiet country gentleman, 
devoting himself to literature and rural pursuits. 
He is now a man of sixty-four years, but young- 


looking for his age, although suffering from severe 
lameness caused by the old wound received at 
Chapultepec. In 1854 he was married to a young 
English lady of the Clarendon-Hyde family, a 
lineal descendant of the famous Lord High Chan- 
cellor. Among his latest writings are a series of 
interesting letters on the Rural Life of England, 
which have recently appeared in the New York 
Tribune, giving detailed and graphic descriptions 
of the farmer, the parson, the squire, the magis- 
trate, field clubs, and sports, and many other things 
of which we over the water read so much in books 

and yet know so little. But his fery latest work, as 
the editors will tell you, is a story written for St. 
Nicholas, in which you will be invited to accom- 
pany some English and American boys through 
some thrilling perils and marvelous escapes in the 
" Land of Fire," during the coming year. You 
will be sure to lie entertained, for whatever else 
may be said of him, Mayne Reid is never dull. 
And you will feel all the more interested in the 
story told when you know that the teller is a 
brave man, who carries wounds received in fight- 
ing your country's battles. 

1 ill: 1 ;.'i (". ,- ; .^>1 , ; 










By H. l. 

THE month was October, the frosts had come down, 
The woodlands were scarlet and yellow and brown ; 
The harvests were gathered, the nights had grown chill, 
But warm was the day on the south of the hill. 

'T was there with our bags and our baskets we went, 
And searching the dry leaves we busily bent : 
The chestnuts were big and the beech-nuts were small, 
But both sorts are welcome to boys in the fall. 

And when, in the ashes beneath the bright flame, 
On eves of November, with laughter and game, 
The sweetmeats are roasted, we recollect still 
How fine was the day on the south of the hill. 

By Sophie Swett. 

HERE he stood, on the nur- 
sery mantel-piece, " grin'n' 
and grin'n', as if he 'd grin 
the hairt out iv him," as 
Nora, the nurse, said, and 
nobody seemed to know 
how he came there. He 
might have walked all the 
way from China, and set himself up there of his 
own accord, for all that Oode, or Teddy, or Mar- 
ion, or the baby knew. But he looked so much 
like a gentleman on a screen down in the library, 
that Marion ran down to see if it were not he. She 
had thought, before, that he must have a very 
stupid time, standing there on the screen, always 
squinting with his queer long eyes, at nothing in 
particular, and she did not think it in the least 
strange that he had preferred to hop off, if he 
could, and come up to the nursery where there 
was always something going on. 

But no; there he was on the screen, squinting 
away, just as usual, and when you came to com- 
pare them, the resemblance was not so very great. 
Instead of an agreeable smile, the one on the 
screen had a scowl, and his petticoats were pur- 
ple, instead of red, like the gentleman's in the 
nursery, and his tunic and trousers, instead of being 
a lovely gold color like his, were a very dull. 

unpleasant pink. He had no queer, box-like cap 
perched on the top of his head and tied under 
his chin, like the one upstairs ; but when you 
came to his pigtail, there was the greatest differ- 
ence. The Chinese gentleman in the nursery had 
a pigtail of " truly " hair, well combed and glossy, 
and reaching almost to his feet ; while the one on 
the screen had only an embroidered one, that 
could n't have looked like anything but sewing 
silk, if he had come off. 

Marion decided that they could be only distant 

When she got back to the nursery, she found 
that an astonishing thing had happened. 

Teddy had given the Chinese gentleman's pig- 
tail a jerk, and there had suddenly appeared in the 
front of his queer little box of a cap the word, 

It was Saturday. They did not need to be told 
that, for Saturday was a holiday. But how he 
knew what day of the week it was, the children 
could not understand. 

The letters seemed to be rattling about in his 
head like the bits of glass in a kaleidoscope, and 
suddenly to rattle themselves together into a word. 

" It 's a wise ould felly, he is," said Nora, shak- 
ing her head mysteriously. " It 's meself knew 
that same be the quare looks iv him. He'll be 



afthcr watchin' iverythin' that's go'n' on, and if 
there 's mischief done he '11 not kapc it til himself. 
Och, but he has a shly way wid him ! " 

The children looked at each other in dismay. 

There was certainly something very queer about 
him. He ran his tongue out, in a mocking and 
very unpleasant way when the word appeared in 
front of his cap, and there was no denying that he 
had a very sly and knowing twinkle in his eye. 

He seemed to know altogether more than was 
proper for a gentleman who, after all, was only 
made of wood, if he was Chinese ; and if he was 
going to be a spy, and tell who did mischief, he 
was not to be tolerated. Teddy gave his pigtail 
another jerk, after a rather cross fashion, and out 
came his tongue in that very impolite way, and 
up into his cap popped the word Sunday. 

" Pooh ! he is n't much, "said Dode. "He is only 
just fixed up inside so that he can tell one day after 
another. Just let him alone, and he '11 say to-mor- 
row is Monday. Nora is only trying to scare you. I 
should think she might know that / would know 
better." And Dode drew himself up to look just 
as tall as he possibly could, which was not, after 
all, so tall as he could wish, and did not seem to 
impress Nora, although it did impress Teddy, and 
Marion, and the baby. 

" He 's only an old wooden image, is he ? and 
not so very pretty either!" said Marion, who al- 
most always believed what Dode told her. 

" He 's a calendar ! He 's useful. I know Aunt 
Esther brought him ! " said Dode, with great 

Aunt Esther was very kind about some things, 
and she had a big dog named Ponto who could 
dance a polka, though she valued him only be- 
cause he kept burglars away. But she had one 
failing that almost spoiled her : she would make 
useful presents. 

It was not of the least avail for Marion to hint, 
about Christmas time, that her doll, Lady Jane 
Grey, was suffering for a Saratoga trunk full of 
stylish clothes ; Aunt Esther was sure to send her 
a work-box, or a writing-desk. She gave Teddy 
a dozen pocket handkerchiefs when he wanted a 
pistol ; and Dode a very dry History of the World, 
in seven volumes, when he had hinted for a banjo. 

She took Teddy to a lecture on Fossil Remains, 
when he wanted to go to the circus, and she made 
Dode go to the School of Anatomy to see a lot of 
skeletons, instead of to the Zoological Gardens. 
She never bought candy, and she thought Mother 
Goose was silly. She said dolls were a waste of 
time, and she thought drums' made a noise. 

Aunt Esther had no children of her own. They 
all died young. Dode said it was no wonder. 

It did not seem, at first thought, as if Aunt 

Esther could have bought the Gentleman from 
China. He was so redand-gold, and had such a 
grin. He looked exactly as if Aunt Esther would 
not approve of him. 

"If you pulled his pigtail every morning he 
would tell you what day of the week it was, and 
that was useful, certainly; but if Aunt Esther had 
bought a Chinese Gentleman at all, she would 
have bought a drab one, who would n't under any 
circumstances have run out his tongue," the chil- 
dren thought. 

How he came there was not explained to the 
satisfaction of Marion and Teddy and the baby, 
whatever Dode might think ; and they did think 
he was a little "quare," and feel a little awe of 
him, although they pretended not to. 

He had such an opportunity to make himself 
disagreeable if he really could watch all the mis- 
chief that was done, and tell who was at the bot- 
tom of it ! For there was no denying that they 
were full of mischief — Dode and Marion and the 
baby. Teddy did not really belong to the family ; 
he was a little orphan cousin. " He is just the 
same as one of us, only not so bad," Marion al- 
ways explained. 

It was not often Teddy who did the mischief, 
but it was very often Teddy who was blamed for it. 

For several days the Gentleman from China 
conducted himself as mildly and unobtrusively as 
a wooden gentleman might be expected to ; he 
certainly saw plenty of mischief, if he kept his 
eyes open, but he never mentioned it, and the 
children grew so bold as to laugh to scorn Nora's 
warnings that he was a " foxy ould felly, that was 
Iayin' up a hape o' saycrets to let out agin 'cm, 
some foine day." 

His smile became very tiresome, and it was 
decided that he was not, after all, very handsome. 
His pigtail was not pulled, even once a day, and 
the children's big brother, Rob, said he "smiled 
and smiled and was a villain," because he so sel- 
dom told the truth about the day of the week. 

One rainy day, Dode did take him down to try 
to find out what there was inside of him. He was 
a long time about it ; but he put him back rather 
suddenly, at last, and went off as if he were in a 
hurry. And neither Marion nor Teddy nor the 
baby cared enough about the Chinese Gentleman 
to remember to ask him, when he came back, if 
he found out where the gentleman kept his letters. 

One reason for this may have been that the 
nursery was enlivened, just then, by three of the 
most bewitching kittens that ever frisked. Three 
fuzzy balls with blue eyes, and the pinkest of noses 
and toes ; and they tore and scampered over 
everything, like small whirlwinds. They under- 
stood so thoroughly the art of being agreeable. 




there was such variety in their entertainments, and 
they enjoyed them so much themselves, it was no 
wonder that they put the Chinese Gentleman 
in the background. The kittens, to be sure, could 
not tell you what day of the week it was, — the 
baby had pulled each of their tails to see, — but so 
long as there was time enough in it to turn somer- 
saults, race together pell-mell, and tumble head- 
long, they did n't care. 

It was a great shame that such lovely kittens 
should not have had prettier names ; but there had 
been so many kittens in that family that the chil- 
dren had exhausted all the pretty names, or got 
fairly tired out thinking them up. They had had 
Gyps, and Fluffs, and Daisies, and Muffs, and Pink- 
ies, and Fannies, and Flossies, and Minnies ; and 
dignified names, too — Lord This and Lady That ; 
a splendid old patriarch named Moses, and a wicked 
little black kitten called Beelzebub ; and now there 
really did n't seem to be any names left for these 
three but Rag, Tag, and Bob-tail ; and Rag, Tag, 
and Bob-tail they were accordingly named. 

Bob-tail did have a funny little bob of a tail ; it 
looked as if half of it had been bitten off; that was 
what made them think of his name, and his name 
suggested the others. Bob-tail was white, with- 
out a speck of any other color upon him; but, I 
am sorry to say, that he usually looked somewhat 
dingy. His one fault was that he would not keep 
himself clean. 

Marion and the baby — who was a three-year-old 
boy, if he was still called the baby, and could do 
as much mischief as an ordinary ten-year-old one 
— had become so disgusted with Bob-tail's want of 
cleanliness, that they had resolved to dye him. He 
really ought to be of some dark color that would 
not show dirt, they thought. 

And they had found, in Mamma's room, a bottle 
of indelible ink, of a bright, beautiful, purple color, 
which, they decided, would be just the very thing 
to dye him with. 

The operation was performed that very day, as 
soon as Dode had finished examining the interior 
arrangements of the Chinese Gentleman, and left 
the room. 

They waited until he had gone, because he al- 
ways wanted to superintend things, and thought he 
ought to, because he was the oldest. Marion and 
the baby thought, as it was their own idea, they 
ought to have the privilege of dyeing Bob-tail 
just as they pleased ; so it was just as well not to 
let Dode know anything about it until it was done. 

Teddy was allowed to look on, and was finally 
promoted to the honor of holding Bob-tail, who, 
being only a kitten, had not sense, enough to un- 
derstand the advantage of being dyed purple, and 
struggled and scratched like a little fury. 

The baby thought he would be prettier dyed in 
spots ; but that was found to be impossible, be- 
cause he would not keep still. The only way was 
to pour the ink over him, and they had to take 
great care to' prevent it from getting into his eyes. 
A great deal went upon the carpet ; but, as Nora 
was down in the kitchen, ironing, and would never 
know how it came there, I am sorry to say that 
they did not think that was of much consequence. 
Marion did look up, once, at the Gentleman from 
China, to see if he showed any signs of noticing 
what was going on, any more than any image 
would, for she could not rid herself of the fancy 
that, after all, Nora might be right about his being 
" quare " and " shly. " But he exhibited only his 
usual pleasant grin, and no more of a twinkle in his 
queer, long eyes. Marion concluded that it would 
be just as absurd to suspect him of noticing what 
was going on as it would be to suspect the little 
brass Cupid on the chandelier, who always had his 
arrow poised, but never let it fly. 

It was proposed to hold Bob-tail over the furnace- 
register until the ink was thoroughly dry ; but Nora 
suddenly opened the door, and Bob-tail took ad- 
vantage of the commotion which her entrance 
caused to make his escape. It happened, unfort- 
unately, that the street-door had been left ajar, 
and out Bob-tail slipped. 

When Marion and Teddy reached the lower hall 
there was no kitten to be seen. They called until 
they were hoarse, but no Bob-tail came. 

" Perhaps he has gone to see if his mother will 
know him," suggested the baby ; for Bob-tail's 
mother, a sober-minded and venerable tabby, lived 
only a few blocks away. 

"If he should happen to see himself in a look- 
ing-glass, he might think it was n't he, and never 
come home," said Marion ; "just like the little old 
woman on the king's highway who had her petti- 
coats cut off, and said : 

lauk a mercy on me : 

his surelv can I 

"I 'm not afraid of that," said Teddy, after some 
deliberation, "because he'll know himself by his 

Still, they all felt very anxious and uneasy, and 
would have rushed out in pursuit of him, only that 
it was raining very hard, and they were not allowed 
to go out. 

They thought he would be sure to come home 
to supper, for Bob-tail was the greediest of the 
three, and always cried lustily for his saucer of 
warm milk. 

But supper-time came, and no Bob-tail. It was 
so sad to miss his shrill little " mew ! " that they all 
three cried, and were quite cross to Rag and Tag,, 
who had not got lost. 



The next morning, they were all up bright and 
early to see if Bob-tail had not come home. But, 
alas ! there were Rag and Tag alone, and so de- 
jected in spirit that they hardly cared to play, and 
looking very melancholy with the bits of black ribbon 
which Dode, who was rather heartless and would 
make fun, had tied around their left forefeet. 

Marion and Teddy went up and down the street, 


and called Bob-tail in beseeching tones, but no 
Bob-tail responded. 

When they came home from school, and found 
that he had not come back, it was resolved that 
something must be done. 

" I 'd rather have him dir-dir-dirty-white and 
found, than pur-pur-purple and lost ! " sobbed the 

And they all agreed to that sentiment. But that 
did not help matters in the least. 

" If the Chinese Gentleman really knew as 
much as Nora said, he might tell us where Bob- 
tail is," said Teddy. "Let's give his pigtail an 
awful pull ! " 

" Pooh ! he '11 only say it is Wednesday. I sup- 
pose he will tell the truth, because he was pulled 
yesterday, but we all 
know that already," said 

Dode cast a somewhat 
uneasy glance at the 
Gentleman from China, 
but said nothing. 

Teddy gave his pig- 
tail "an awful pull." 
And a most extraordi- 
nary thing happened. 
Instead of the name 
of the day of the week,' 
this was what appeared 
in the front of the 
Chinese Gentleman's 
head-dress : 


Some of the letters 
were tipsily askew, but 
the message was plain 
enough. " Send E. W." 
Of course, E. W. stood 
for Edward Warren, 
Teddy's name. 

Teddy turned pale, 

and Marion thought that 

■ Nora was certainly right, 

and wished tliat she had 

believed her before. 

Dode looked a little 
frightened, but he laugh- 
ed and went and gave 
the Chinese Gentleman's 
pigtail another twitch.. 

"We'll find out 
whether he really means 
it," he said. 

Those letters fell away, 
and up came : V"E S. 


The letters were even 
more askew than the others, and there was a great 
rattling before they came, as if he had to make a 
greattffort to get them up into his cap. But here 
it was, as plain a " Yes " as one could wish to see. 
"There 's no doubt about it; he means for you 
to go, Teddy," said Dode, laughing still, though 
he did look a little frightened — and Dode was not 
easily scared. 




"And oh, Teddy, perhaps you will find Bob- 
tail! " cried Marion, forgetting her fears in joy at 
this prospect. 

Teddy prepared at once to obey the Chinese 
Gentleman's direction. He had not the least idea 
where to go, but he had faith that he should find 
Bob-tail, for the Chinese Gentleman seemed gifted 
with miraculous powers. 

Dode and Marion and the baby escorted him 
down to the door ; and Marion, determined to 
have everything properly done, tied a handker- 
chief over his eyes, and made him whirl around 
until he could not tell which way he was facing, 
and then started him off. When he took the hand- 
kerchief off, he found he was turned in just the 
opposite direction to the one he had intended to 
follow ; but, since Marion was sure it was the proper 
way to do, he went on, having a queer feeling that 
the Chinese Gentleman had had something to do 
with turning him around. 

On he went, up p one street and down another, 
peering into every alley-way, and calling "Kitty, 
Kitty," or " Bobby, Bobby," continually. Several 
times he stopped and asked persons whom he met 
if they had seen " a purple kitten without very 
much of a tail." They all looked surprised and said 
" No " ; one boy laughed, and said there was no such 
thing as a purple kitten. Teddy did not condescend 
to explain, and, as the other boy was a big one, 
Teddy did not tell him what he thought of him. 

He grew very weary and discouraged, and had 
begun to think that the Gentleman from China 
was a humbug, when suddenly he espied a crowd 
collected around a hand-organ. Perhaps there 
was a monkey ! If there was anything in the 
world that Teddy thoroughly delighted in, it was 
a monkey. He forgot that he was tired, he almost 
forgot Bob-tail, for there was a monkey, and an 
uncommonly attractive one, too, with scarlet trou- 
sers and a yellow jacket, ear-rings in his ears, and a 
funny little hat, with a feather standing upright in 
it. He was holding his hat out for pennies, and, 
suddenly seeing a lady at an upper window of a 
house, he darted nimbly on to the window-blind, 
and so made his way up to her. 

The ladj' put some money into his hat, and he 
turned away; but something on the roof of the 
house suddenly caught his eye, and he darted up 
the spout to the very top of the house ! 

There sat a kitten — a most forlorn, and dirty, 
and draggled-looking kitten, of a dull, dingy black 
color, with streaks and spots of dirty white here 
and there, and not very much of a tail. 

Bob-tail's very self; but oh, how changed from 
the happy, frisky Bob-tail of other days ! 

The monkey advanced, chattering, and with up- 
lifted paw, and cuffed poor Bob-tail's ears. 

The kitten made a fierce little spit at the 
monkey. And then, seeming to be overcome with 
fear of a kind of enemy which was new -to his 
experience, and might be altogether too much for 
him, he turned and fled. 

Teddy could see an open sky-light, and the tip 
of the kitten's tail vanishing into it. 

Teddy ran up the steps of the house and rang 
the bell. 

" My kitten, is in your house ! I saw him go 
down through your sky-light," he said to the young 
girl who opened the door. 

" Is it a queer kitten, that looks as if he 'd been 
through everything?" said the girl. 

" Yes, perhaps he does. He 's been dyed," said 
Teddy, rather shamefacedly. 

"Dyed? What a cruel, wicked boy you must 
be to dye a poor little kitten ! " said the girl, se- 
verely. " He has been crying around here all day. 
He would n't eat anything, he was so frightened. 
I 'm sure I don't know about letting you have him." 

" We thought he would be prettier purple. But 
we '11 never dye him again," said Teddy, meekly. 

The girl seemed to have difficulty in catching 
Bob-tail, but she at last appeared with him, though 
he was struggling frantically for freedom. 

The moment he saw Teddy he made a leap into 
his arms. He was of a forgiving disposition, and 
willing to overlook the dyeing, or perhaps he had 
found, already, that there is no place like home. 
At all events, he curled up snugly in Teddy's arms, 
and Teddy, rejoicing, carried him home. 

Great was the joy among the children over the 
wanderer restored to the bosom of his family, but 
Rag and Tag were somewhat cold and reserved in 
their manner toward him. 

They eyed him askance for awhile, Tag even 
showing an inclination to do battle with him, but 
at last they both drew nearer and smelled of him, 
and seeming re-assured by this, they set to work to 
restore him to his natural color. But they retired 
from the labor with disgusted faces before long, 
evidently not finding the taste of the ink agreeable. 

It was night then, and by gaslight Dode and 
Marion did not think Bob-tail looked very badly, 
considering that purple is not expected to be very 
pretty by gas-light ; but the next morning Marion 
thought he did look " horrible," as she said. 

" Oh, I wish we had him back as he was ! " she 
exclaimed. " I don't think purple is in good taste 
for kittens, and he 's almost black anyway, and so 
streaked ! What shall we do ? " 

"Ask the old chap; maybe he'll know," said 

"Oh, the Chinese Gentleman ! Do you dare to 
twitch his pigtail, Dode ?" asked Marion, in a voice 
of awe. 



Dode pulled it, and with a great deal of rattling — 
more than he had made just to tell the days of the 
week — up came these letters : 


" Dirty ! why, of course, Bob-tail is dirty. That 's 
true, old fellow, if you can't spell ! " cried Dode. 

" Oh, hush, Dody ! Perhaps that 's the way they 
spell it in China. How could he know ?" cried 

"1 don't see that we know any more," said 
Teddy. " You 'd better ask him again, Dode, how 
we can clean him." 

Dode twitched the Chinese Gentleman's pig-tail 

" I should n't want to be so rude to a witch like 
him," said Teddy, seriously. " He might turn you 
into something." 

"There aren't any gentleman witches in my 
book," said Marion, doubtfully ; " but perhaps they 
have them in China. Pull him once more, Dode, 
and be awfully polite." 

Dode pulled, and TRY came up, very straight 
and trim. 

"Try! So we will. We will wash him like 
everything," said Marion. 

And into the bath-tub went poor Bob-tail as soon 
as they came from school that afternoon, and such 


again, he being the only one who had the courage a scrubbing as he had it is probable that no other 

to do it. kitten was ever compelled to endure since the 

STA\ r came up, the letters askew, as if he were world began, 

in a great hurry. They could hardly tell whether he looked any 

"Stay? What does he mean by that? We better or not that night, he was so wet, and drag- 
wont let Bob-tail stay purple, if that 's what you gled, and unhappy. And the next morning he 
mean, my ancient chap," said Dode, whose bump was still shivering, and seemed, as Marion said, 
of reverence was but small. "as if he were froinsr to have a fit of sickness." 




The purple had come off a good deal, but that was 
no comfort if he were going to die ! 

" I 'd a good deal rather have him pur-pur-purple 
than not to have him a ter-ter-tall ! " cried the 

" Oh, Dode, ask the Chinese Gentleman what we 
shall do for him ! " exclaimed Marion. 

"All right," said Dode. " It 's Friday to-day, 
is n't it?" 

" What has that to do with it ? " demanded 

" Oh, nothing," said Dode, " only he '11 be sure 
not to say the same that he did yesterday." 

"What do you mean, Dode?" said Marion. 

" Oh, nothing, only they never repeat themselves 
in China," said Dode, who could be very disagree- 
able about keeping things to himself. 

He jerked the pigtail, and I RDF greeted the 
children's astonished eyes. 

"What does it mean?" exclaimed Marion. 

"It 's probably Chinese. If you only understood 
Chinese you 'd know just how to cure Bob-tail. I'll 
pull again and ask him to speak English." 

The pigtail being jerked, up came these letters : 


"That's English, anyway! And I don't sup- 
pose he 's quite dry, or he would n't shiver so. 
Let 's wrap him up in warm blankets." 

The Chinese Gentleman's command was accord- 
ingly obeyed, and in twenty-four hours Bob-tail 
was himself again, and really more a white kitten 
than a purple one.. 

Sunday afternoon, it happened that Dode and 
Marion were alone in the nursery. Marion, who 
had been earnestly looking at the Gentleman from 
China, suddenly said, in a very serious tone: 

" Dode, do you think he really is a witch ? " 

" Oh, you goose ! I should think anybody 
might see through that," said Dode, who was in 
an unusually good-natured mood. " 1 broke him, 
trying to find out how he was made, and now, 
instead of coming up in order, the letters that 
make the name of the day come any way ; that 's 
all., Sometimes it makes a word, and sometimes 
it does n't. It has happened queerly, sometimes, 

and that 's all. Yesterday I pulled him, and he 
said DUTY; now we '11 see what he '11 say." 

DUNS came up, at which Dode clapped his 
hands provokingly, and declared that the old 
Chinee had some sense, after all; for if that did n't 
spell " dunce," what did it spell ? and did n't it just 
describe the girl that thought he was a witch ? It 
was rather hard to make Marion believe Dode's 
simple explanation, and he told her, grandly, that 
"half the grown people in the world could be 
humbugged by a simple thing like that, which any 
fellow, with a head on his shoulders, could explain 
to them in two minutes." 

Teddy, on being summoned, was inclined to 
agree with Marion in thinking that the Chinese 
Gentleman must have brains, instead of machinery, 
in the head which that wonderful pigtail grew out 

But they all united in one opinion, that he was 
" the splendidest fun they ever had; and if Aunt 
Esther did buy him, he made amends for all the 
useful presents she had ever given them." 

It happened that Aunt Esther came to see them 
the very next day. The first thing that she said, 
when she came into the nursery, was : 

" I am very glad to hear that you like the pres- 
ent I sent you. I did n't suppose you would, be- 
cause it is not a frivolous, useless toy. I am sorry 
that it is broken, and I will have it repaired." 

" Oh, Aunt Esther, please don't ! " cried Marion. 
" We hated him when he went right. We only 
like him spoiled ! " 

Aunt Esther heaved a great sigh. 

" It is just as I might have expected. You never 
will care for anything useful. Hereafter, I shall 
give my presents to deserving children." 

Just at that moment Dode slyly pulled the Chi- 
nese Gentleman's pigtail, and — of course it was 
very impolite and wrong, but he did n't know any 
better — the Chinese Gentleman, running out his 
tongue and, it seemed to the children, with a 
broader grin than he had ever grinned before, 
rattled these letters up into his cap : O MY. 

And Aunt Esther w ill not believe, to this day, 
that the children did not mean to make fun of her. 



By Mary A. Lathbury. 


Light up the sky ! Light up the sky ! 
The moon is set and the wind is high, 
And two little runaways — Madge and 1 
Must journey and journey 
Till night is done. 

To the Land o' Clouds. 
To meet the sun. 
So, little Lamp-lighter. 
The stars must burn brighter. 
And whether to Cloud-land 
Or Dream-land, or nearer. 
The stars must burn clearer. 

For Madge and for me. 
To go when the sun comes up 
Out of the sea. 

4 o 



By Frank R. Stockton. 

In the ancient country of Orn, there lived an 
old man who was called the Bee-man, because his 
whole time was spent in the company of bees. He 
lived in a little hue, which was nothing more than 
an immense bee-hive, for these little creatures had 
built their honey-combs in every corner of the 
one room it contained, on the shelves, under the 
one little table, all about the rough bench on which 
the old man sat, and even about the head-board 
and along the sides of his low bed. All day the 
air of the room was thick with buzzing insects, but 
this did not interfere in any way with the old Bee- 
man, who walked in among them, ate his meals, 
and went to sleep, without the slightest fear of 
being stung. He had lived with the bees so long, 
they had become so accustomed to him, and his 
skin was so tough and hard, that the bees no more 
thought of stinging him than they would of sting- 
ing a tree or a stone. A swarm of bees had made 
their hive in a pocket of his old leathern doublet ; 
and when he put on this coat to take one of his 
long walks in the forest in search of wild bees' 
nests, he was very glad to have this hive with him ; 
for, if he did not find any wild honey, he would 
put his hand in his pocket and take out a piece of 
a comb for a luncheon. The bees in his pocket 
worked very industriously, and he was always cer- 
tain of having something to eat with him wherever 
he went. He lived principally upon honey ; and 
when he needed bread or meat, he carried some 
nice combs to a village, not far away and bartered 
them for other food. He was ugly, untidy, shriv- 
eled, and brown. He was poor, and the bees 
seemed to be his only friends or relations. But, 
for all that, he was happy and contented ; he had 
all the honey he wanted, and his bees, whom he 
considered the best company in the world, were as 
friendly and sociable as they could be,, and seemed 
to increase in number every day. 

One day, there stopped at the hut of the Bee- 
man a Junior Sorcerer. This young person, who 
was a student of magic, necromancy, and the 
kindred arts, was much interested in the Bee-man, 
whom he had frequently noticed in his wanderings. 
He had never met with such a being before, and 
considered him an admirable subject for study. 
He got a great deal of useful practice by endeavor- 
ing to find out. by the various rules and laws of 
sorcery, exactly why the old Bee-man did not hap- 
pen to be something that he was not, and why he 
was what he happened to be. He had studied 

a good while at this matter, and had found out 

"Do you know," he said, when the Bee-man 
came out of his hut, " that you have been trans- 
formed ? " 

" What do you mean by that?" said the other, 
much surprised. 

" You have surely heard of animals and human 
beings who have been magically transformed into 
different kinds of creatures ? " 

" Yes, 1 have heard of these things," said the 
Bee-man ; " but what have I been transformed 
from? " 

"That is more than i know," said the Junior 
Sorcerer. " But one thing is certain — you ought 
to be changed back. If you will find out what 
you have been transformed from, I will see that 
you are made all right again. Nothing would 
please me better than to attend to such a case." 

And, having a great many things to study and 
investigate, the Junior Sorcerer went his way. 

This information greatly disturbed the mind of 
the Bee-man. If he had been changed from 
something else he ought to be that other thing, 
whatever it was. He ran after the young man, 
and overtook him. 

" If you know, kind sir," he said, " that 1 have 
been transformed, you surely are able to tell me 
what it is I was." 

"No," said the Junior Sorcerer, "my studies 
have not proceeded far enough for that. 'When I 
become a senior I can tell you all about it. But. 
in the meantime, it will be well for you to try to 
discover for yourself your original form, and when 
you have done that, I will get some of the learned 
masters of my art to restore you to it. It will be 
easy enough to do that, but you could not expect 
them to take the time and trouble to find out what 
it was." 

And, with these words, he hurried away, and 
was soon lost to view. 

Greatly disquieted, the Bee-man retraced his 
steps, and went to his hut. Never before had he 
heard anything which had so troubled him. 

" 1 wonder what 1 was transformed from ? " he 
thought, seating himself on his rough bench. 
" Could it have been a giant, or a powerful 
prince, or some gorgeous being whom the magi- 
cians or the fairies wished to punish ? It may be 
that 1 was a dog or a horse, or perhaps a fiery 
dragon or a horrid snake. I hope it was not one 



of these. But, whatever it was, every one has 
certainly a right to his original form, and I am 
resolved to find out mine. I will start early to- 
morrow morning, and 1 am sorry now that I have 
not more pockets to my old doublet, so that I 
might carry more bees and more honey for my 

He spent the rest of the day in making a hive of 
twigs and straw, and, having transferred to this a 
colony of bees that had just swarmed and a great 
many honey-combs, he rose before sunrise the 
next day, and having put on his leathern doublet, 
and having bound his new hive to his back, he set 
forth on his quest, the bees who were to accom- 
pany him buzzing around him like a cloud. 

As the Bee-man passed through the little village 
the people greatly wondered at his queer appear- 
ance, with the hive upon his back. " The Bee-man 
is going on a long expedition this time," they said; 
but no one imagined the strange business on which 
he was bent. About noon he sat down under a 
tree, near a beautiful meadow covered with blos- 
soms, and ate a little honey. Then he untied his 
hive and stretched himself out on the grass to rest. 
As he gazed upon his bees hovering about him, 
some going out to the blossoms in the sunshine, 
and some returning laden with the sweet pollen, 
he thought that he noticed a bee who was a stran- 
ger to him. He was so familiar with his own bees 
that he could distinguish an outsider. 

" This stranger seems very busy," he said aloud. 
" 1 wonder what it wants of my bees ? " 

As he said this, a large and vary beautiful bee 
alighted on his knee, and looking up at him said, 
in a clear little voice : " I want only to know where 
you are going, and what you. intend to do. And I 
have been asking your bees about it." 

" My bees can't talk," said the Bee-man, in 

" They can talk to me." said the bee, "and I 
can talk to you. I am really a fairy, and have 
taken the form of a bee for purposes of my own." 

"Then you have been transformed," cried the 
Bee-man, " and no doubt you know all about that 
sort of tiling ! " 

" I know a good deal about it," said the Fairy. 
"Your bees say you are greatly troubled. What 
has happened to you?" 

Then the Bee-man, with much earnestness, told 
all that had occurred, ind what he was trying to 
find out. 

"So you have been transformed, have you?" 
said the Fairy bee, "and you want to know what 
your original form was. That is curious, and, if 
you choose, I will go with you and help you. The 
case is very interesting." 

" Oh, that will be an excellent thing ! " said the 

Bee-man. " If you help me, I shall be sure to 
find out everything." ' 

" But you should consider," said the Fairy, 
"that you may have been some dreadful creature. 
In that case, it would be well to know nothing 
about it." 

" Oh, no," cried the Bee-man. " It is not honest 
for any person to have a form that is not originally 
his own. No matter what I was before, I am de- 
termined to be changed back. I jhall never be 
satisfied to live in a false form." 

" Very well," said the Fairy, " I will help you 
all I can." 

And when the Bee-man started out again, the 
Fairy bee went with him. 

" How did you expect to do this thing," said 
the Fairy, " when you first set out?" 

" I supposed I should find my original form," 
said the Bee-man, "very much as 1 find bee trees. 
When I come to one I know it." 

" That maybe a very good plan," said the Fairy,, 
"and when you see anything in your original form 
you may be drawn toward it." 

" I have no doubt of it," said the Bee-man. 

It was not long after this that the Bee-man and 
his companion entered a fair domain. Around 
them were rich fields, splendid forests, and lovely 
gardens, while at a little distance stood the beauti- 
ful palace of the Lord of the Domain. Richly 
dressed people were walking about or sitting in the 
shade of the trees and arbors ; splendidly capari- 
soned horses were waiting for their riders, and 
everywhere were seen signs of opulence and 

" I think," said the Bee-man, " that I should 
like to stop here for a time. If it should happen 
that I was originally like any one of these happy 
creatures, it would please me much." 

" Very well," said the Fairy bee. " 1 suppose 
we might as well stop here as anywhere." 

" Perhaps," said the Bee-man, "you can help- 
me to pick out my original form." 

" No," said the Fairy, " that you must discover 
for yourself But if you are so drawn toward any 
living creature that you feel certain that once you 
must have been like it. then, perhaps, I can help- 

The Bee-man untied his hive, and hid it behind 
some bushes, and taking off his old doublet, laid 
that beside it. It would not do to have his bees 
flying about him if he wished to go among the 
inhabitants of this fair domain. 

For two days the Bee-man wandered about the 
palace and its grounds, avoiding notice as much as. 
possible, but looking at everything. He saw hand- 
some men and lovely ladies ; the finest horses, dogs, 
and cattle that were ever known ; beautiful birds. 



in cages, and fishes in crystal globes, and it seemed " What are you doing here, you vile beggar? " 

to him that the best of all living things were here he cried; and he gave him a kick that sent him 

collected. quite over some bushes that grew by the side of 

At the close of the second day, the Bee-man the path, 

said to the Fairy, who had accompanied him every- The Bee-man came down upon a grass-plat on 

where: " There is one being here toward whom I the other side of the path, and getting to his feet 


feel very much drawn, and that is the Lord of the 

" Indeed ! " said the Fairy. " Do you think you 
were once like him ? " 

" I can not say for certain," replied the Bee-man, 
"but it would be a very fine thing if it were so ; 
and it seems impossible for me to be drawn toward 
any other being in the domain when I look upon 
him, so handsome, rich, and powerful." 

" Well, I have nothing to say about it," said the 
Fairy. "You must decide the matter for yourself. 
But I advise you to observe him more closely, and 
feel more sure of the matter, before you apply to 
the sorcerers to change you back into a lord of a 
fair domain." 

The next, morning, the Bee-man saw the Lord 
of the Domain walking in his gardens. He slipped 
along the shady paths, and followed him so as to 
observe him closely, and find out if he were really 
drawn toward this gracious and handsome being. 
The Lord of the Domain walked on for some time, 
not noticing that the Bee-man was behind him. 
But suddenly turning, he saw the little old man. 

he ran as fast as he could to the bush where he 
had hidden his hive and his old doublet. 

"Do you still," said the Fairy, "feel drawn 
toward the Lord of the Domain ? " 

"No, indeed," replied the other, much excited. 
" If I am certain of anything, it is that I was never 
a person who would kick a poor old Bee-man, like 
myself. Let us leave this place. I was trans- 
formed from nothing that I see here." 

The two now traveled for a day or two longer, 
and then they came to a great black mountain, 
near the bottom of which was an opening like the 
mouth of a cave. 

"This mountain,'' said the Fairy, "is filled 
with caverns and under-ground passages, which 
are the abodes of dragons, evil spirits, horrid creat- 
ures of all kinds. Would you like to visit it ? " 

" Well," said the Bee-man with a sigh, " I sup- 
pose I ought to. If I am going to do this thing 
properlv, I should look on all sides of the subject, 
and I may have been one of those horrid creatures 

Thereupon they went to the mountain, and as 



they approached the opening of the passage which 
led into its inmost recesses they saw, sitting upon 
the ground, and leaning his back against a tree, a 
Languid Youth. 

"Good-day," said this individual when he saw 
the Bee-man. " Are you going inside? " 

"Yes," said the Bee-man, "that is what I am 
going to do." 

"Then," said the Languid Youth, slowly rising 
to his feet, " I think I will go with you. I was 
told that if I went in there I should get my ener- 
gies toned up, and they need it very much ; but I 
did not feel equal to going in by myself, and I 
thought I would wait until some one came along. 
I am very glad to see you, and we will go in to- 

So the two went into the cave accompanied by 
the Fairy, whom the Languid Youth had not 
noticed. They had proceeded but a short distance 
when they met a little creature, whom it was easy 
to recognize as a Very Imp. He was about two 
feet high and resembled in color a freshly polished 
pair of boots. He was extremely lively and active, 
and as he came bounding toward them, his quick 
eye perceived the Fairy bee, and, paying no atten- 
tion to the Bee-man and his companion, he imme- 
diately entered into conversation with her. 

"So you are changed into a bee, are you?" 
said he. " That is queer. But you need not keep 
up that sort of thing in here. I wish you would 
change back into a fairy. I like you ever so 
much better that way." 

" I have no doubt of it," said the Fairy, "for then 
I would not have any sting. I know what you 
want to do. You want to put me in a jar and 
pickle me." 

"That is exactly it," said the Very Imp. "I 
have got lots of things in pickle, but I never had a 
pickled fairy: but if 1 can't get hold of you I sup- 
pose I shall have to give it up. What did you 
bring these two people here for ? " 

" I did not bring both of them," said the Fairy. 
"That younger one came here to have his energies 
toned up." 

"He has come to the right place," said the Very 
Imp, giving himself a bounce like an India-rubber 
ball. " We will tone him up. And what does that 
old Bee-man want ?" 

" He has been transformed from something, and 
wants to find out what it is. He thinks he may 
have been one of the things in here." 

" I should not wonder if that were so," said the 
Very Imp, rolling his head on one side, and eving 
the Bee-man with a critical gaze. "There is 
something about him that reminds me of one of 
those double-tailed dragons with red-hot claws, that 
live in the upper part of the mountain. I will take 
VOL. XL— 4. 

him to one of them, and see if we can make a 

"No, you wont," said the Fairy bee. " He is 
under my protection. He shall see all these creat- 
ures, and if he feels a drawing toward any of them 
as if he must once have been the same kind of thing 
himself, I will know if it is really so, and he will 
be changed back." 

" All right," said the Very Imp ; " you can take 
him around, and let him pick out his previous ex- 
istence. We have here all sorts of vile creepers, 
crawlers, hissers, and snorters. I suppose he thinks 
anything will be better than a Bee-man." 

" It is not because he wants to be better than he 
is," said the Fairy bee, "that he started out on 
this search. He has simply an honest desire to 
become what he originally was." 

" Oh, that is it, is it?" said the other. "There 
is an idiotic moon-calf here with a clam head, 
which must be just like what the Bee-man used 
to be." 

'• Nonsense," said the Fairv bee. "You have 


not the least idea what an honest purpose is. I 
shall take him about, and let him choose for him- 

"Go ahead," said the Very Imp, "and I will 
attend to this fellow who wants to be toned up." 
So saying he joined the Languid Youth. 

" Look here," said that individual, regarding 




him with interest, " do you black and shine your- 
self every morning ? " 

" No," said the other, " it is water-proof varnish. 
You want to be invigorated, don't you ? Well, I 
will tell you a splendid way to begin. You see 
that Bee-man has put down his hive and his coat 
with the bees in it. Just wait till he gets out of 
sight, and then catch a lot of those bees, and 
squeeze them flat. If you spread them on a sticky 
rag, and make a plaster, and put it on the small 
of your back, it will invigorate you like everything, 
especially if some of the bees are not quite dead." 

"Yes," said the Languid Youth, looking at him 
with his mild eyes, "if I had energy enough to 
catch a bee 1 would be satisfied. Suppose you 
catch a lot for me." 

" The subject is changed," said the Very Imp. 
" We are now about to visit the spacious chamber 
of the King of the Snap-dragons." 

" That is a flower," said the Languid Youth. 

" You will find him a gay old blossom," said 
the other. "When he has chased you round 
his room, and has blown sparks at you, and has 
snorted and howled, and cracked his tail, and 
snapped his jaws like a pair of anvils, your ener- 
gies will be toned up higher than ever before in 
your life." 

"No doubt of it," said the Languid Youth; 
"but I think I will begin with something a little 

"Well then," said the other, "there is aflat- 
tailed Demon of the Gorge in here. He is gener- 
ally asleep, and, if you say so, you can slip into 
the farthest corner of his cave, and I '11 solder 
his tail to the opposite wall. Then he will rage 
and roar, but he can't get at you, for he does n't 
reach all the way across his cave ; I have meas- 
ured him. It will tone you up wonderfully to sit 
there and watch him." 

"Very likely," said the Languid Youth ; "but 
I would rather stay outside and let you go up in 
the corner. The performance in that way will 
be more interesting to me." 

"You are dreadfully hard to please," said the 
Very Imp. "I have offered them to you loose, 
and I have offered them fastened to a wall, and 
now the best thing I can do is to give you a chance 
at one of them that can't move at all. It is the 
Ghastly Griffin, and is enchanted. He can't stir 
so much as the tip of his whiskers for a thousand 
years. You can go to his cave and examine him 
just as if he was stuffed, and then you can sit on 
his back and think how it would be if you should 
live to be a thousand years old, and he should 
wake up while you are sitting there. It would be 
easy to imagine a lot of horrible things he would 
do to you when you look at his open mouth with 

its awful fangs, his dreadful claws, and his horrible 
wings all covered with spikes." 

" I think that might suit me," said the Lan- 
guid Youth. " I would much rather imagine the 
exercises of these monsters than to see them really 
going on." 

" Come on, then," said the Very Imp, and he 
led the way to the cave of the Ghastly Griffin. 

The Bee-man and the Fairy bee went together 
through a great part of the mountain, and looked 
into many of its gloomy caves and recesses, the 
Bee-man recoiling in horror from most of the 
dreadful monsters who met his eyes. Many of 
these would have sprung upon him and torn him 
to pieces had not the Fairy bee let them know that 
the old man was under her protection and, there- 
fore, could not be touched by any of them. While 
they were wandering about, an awful roar was 
heard resounding through the passages of the 
mountain, and soon there came flapping along 
an enormous dragon, with body black as night, and 
wings and tail of fiery red. In his great fore-claws 
he bore a little baby. 

" What is he going to do with that ? " asked the 
Bee-man, shrinking back as the monster passed. 

" He will take it into his cave and devour it, I 
suppose," said the Fairy bee. 

" Can't you save it ? " cried the other. 

" No," said the Fairy. "I know nothing about 
that baby, and have no power to protect it. I have 
only authority from our Queen to act as your 

They saw the dragon enter a cave not far away, 
and they followed and looked in. The dragon 
was crouched upon the ground with the little baby 
lying before him. It did not seem to be hurt, but 
was frightened and crying. The monster was 
looking upon it with delight, as if he intended to 
make a dainty meal of it as soon as his appetite 
should be a little stronger. 

"It is too bad !" exclaimed the Bee -man. 
"Somebody ought to do something." And turn- 
ing around, he ran away as fast as he could. 

He ran through various passages until he came 
to the spot where he had left his bee-hive. Pick- 
ing it up, he hurried back, carrying the hive in his 
two hands before him. When he reached the cave 
of the dragon, he looked in and saw the monster 
still crouched over the weeping child. Without a 
moment's hesitation, the Bee-man rushed into the 
cave and threw his hive straight into the face of 
the dragon. The bees, enraged by the shock, 
rushed out in an angry crowd and immediately 
fell upon the head, mouth, eyes, and nose of the 
dragon. The great monster, astounded by this 
sudden attack, and driven almost wild by the num- 
berless stings of the bees, started suddenly back 



to the farthest portion of his cave, still followed by 
his relentless enemies, at whom he napped wildly 
with his great wings and struck with his paws. 
While the dragon was thus engaged with the bees, 
the Bee-man sprang forward and, seizing the child, 
he rushed away. He did not stop to pick up his 
doublet, but kept on until he was out of the caves. 
The Fairy bee followed him; but perceiving the 

The Fairy bee said no more ; but, flying on, she 
soon came to the outside opening, beyond which 
she saw the Languid Youth talking to the Bee-man, 
who still held the child in his arms. 

" You need not be in a hurry now," said the 
former, " for the rules of this institution don't allow 
the creatures inside to come out of this opening, or 
to hang around it. If they did, they would frighten 

Very Imp hopping along on one leg, and rubbing 
his back and shoulders with his hands, she stopped 
to inquire what was the matter, and what had 
become of the Languid Youth. 

" He is no kind of a fellow," said the Very Imp. 
"He disappointed me dreadfully. I took him up 
to the Ghastly Griffin, and told him the thing was 
enchanted, and that he might sit on its back and 
think about what it could do if it was awake ; and 
when he came near it the wretched creature opened 
its eyes, and raised its head, and then you ought 
to have seen how mad that simpleton was. He 
made a dash at me and seized me by the ears ; 
he kicked and beat me till I can scarcely move." 

"His energies must have been toned up a good 
deal," said the Fairy bee. 

" Toned up ! I should say so ! " cried the other. 
" I raised a howl, and a Scissor-jawed Clipper came 
out of his hole, and got after him ; but that lazy 
fool ran so fast that he could not be caught." 

away visitors. They go in and out of holes in the 
upper part of the mountain." 

The Bee-man now walked on, accompanied by 
the other. " That wretched Imp," said the latter, 
" cheated me into going up to a Griffin, which he 
said was enchanted. I gave the little scoundrel a 
thrashing, and then a great thing, with clashing 
jaws and legs like a grasshopper, rushed after me 
and chased me clean out of the place. All this 
warmed me up, and did my energies a lot of good. 
What are you going to do with that baby ? " 

•' I shall carry it along with me," said the Bee- 
man, " as I go on with my search, and perhaps I 
may lind its mother. If I do not, I shall give it to 
somebody in that little village yonder. Anything 
would be better than leaving it to be devoured by 
that horrid dragon." 

"Let me carry it. I feel quite strong enough 
now to carry a baby." 

'• Thank you," said the Bee-man. " but I can 



take it myself. I like to carry something, and I 
have now neither my hive nor my doublet." 

"It is very well that you had to leave them be- 
hind," said the Youth, " for the bees would have 
stung the baby." 

" My bees never stung babies," said the other. 

" They probably never had a chance," remarked 
his companion. "But there is one bee flying 
about you now. Shall I kill it ? " 

"Oh, no!" cried the Bee-man. "That is a 
fairy bee. She is my protector." 

The Youth was very much astonished, and looked 
at the Fairy bee with wide-open eyes ; and when 
she flew near him, and spoke to him, he was so 
much amazed that he could not answer. 

" Yes," she said, " I 'm a fairy, and I 'm taking 
care of this old man. I do not tell him where to go, 
or what to do, but I see that he comes to no harm." 

" It is very good of you," faltered the Youth. 
He was trying to think of some other complimentary 
remark, but they had now entered the village, and 
something ahead of them attracted his attention. In 
a moment, he exclaimed: " Do you see that woman 
over there, sitting at the door of her house ? She 
has beautiful hair, and she is tearing it all to 
pieces. She should not be allowed to do that." 

"No," said the Bee-man. " Her friends should 
tie her hands." 

" It would be much better to give her her child," 
said the Fairy bee. " Then she will no longer 
think of tearing her hair." 

"But," the Bee-man said, "you don't really 
think this is her child ? " 

" Just you go over and see," replied the Fairy. 

The Bee-man hesitated a moment, and then he 
walked toward the woman with the baby. When 
the woman heard him coming, she raised her head, 
and when she saw the child she rushed toward it, 
snatched it into her arms and, screaming with joy, 
she covered it with kisses. Then, with joyful 
tears, she begged to know the story of the rescue 
of her child, whom she never expected to see 
again ; and she loaded the Bee-man with thanks 
and blessings. The friends and neighbors gathered 
around, and there was great rejoicing. The mother 
urged the Bee-man and the Youth to stay with her, 
and rest and refresh themselves, which they were 
glad to do, as they were tired and hungry. 

The next morning the Youth remarked that he 
felt so well and vigorous that he thought he would 
go on to his home across a distant plain. "If I 
have another fit of languidity," he said, " I will 
come back and renew my acquaintance with the 
Very Imp. But, before I go, I would suggest that 
something be done to prevent that dragon from 
returning after the child." 

" I have attended to that," said the Fairy bee. 

" Last night I flew away, and gat permission to 
protect the infant, and I have given it a little sting 
on its forehead which will so mark it that all drag- 
ons and other evil creatures will know it is under 
fairy protection. It hurt a little at first; but that 
was soon over, and the scar will scarcely be noticed 
by common eyes." 

"A good idea," said the Youth, "and it was 
very generous in you to think of it." And, so 
saying, he took his leave. 

" And now," said the Fairy bee to the Bee-man, 
" I suppose we might as well go on." 

" Not just yet," said the other. " This is a 
very pleasant place to rest, and I am tired." 

The Bee-man remained at the cottage all day, 
and in the evening he said to the Fairy : " Do 
you know that I never felt drawn toward anything 
so much as toward this baby ? And I believe that 
I was transformed from a baby." 

" That is it," cried the Fairy bee. " I knew it 
all the time, but you had to find it out for your- 
self. Your original form was that of a baby. 
Would you like to be changed back?" 

" Indeed I would," said the Bee-man. " I have 
the strongest yearning to be what I originally was." 

That night the Fairy bee flew away, and in- 
formed the Junior Sorcerer and his Masters that 
the Bee-man had discovered what he had been 
transformed from, and desired to be changed back. 
The Junior Sorcerer was very much interested, and 
with some of his learned friends, he journeyed 
down to the mother's cottage. And there, by 
magic arts, the Bee-man was changed into a baby. 
The mother was so grateful to the Bee-man that 
she agreed to take charge of this baby, and bring 
it up as her own. 

"It will be a grand thing for him," said the 
|unior Sorcerer, "and I am glad that I studied 
his case. He will now have a fresh start in life, 
and will have a chance to become something better 
than a miserable old man, living in a wretched hut 
with no friends or companions but buzzing bees." 

The Junior Sorcerer and his Masters then re- 
turned to their homes ; and the Fairy bee, having 
vaccinated the new baby against dragons, flew 
away to her Queen, and resumed her usual form. 

Years and years afterward, when the Junior 
Sorcerer had become a Senior, and was very old 
indeed, he passed through the country of Orn and 
noticed a small hut about which swarms of bees 
were flying. He approached it and, looking in 
at the door, saw an old man in a leathern doublet, 
sitting at a table, eating honey. By his magic 
art, he knew this was the baby which had been 
transformed from the Bee-man. 

" Upon my word ! " exclaimed the Sorcerer. 

i88 3 .] 






y'§ T\ a a a m 

By Uitcy S Tfl QTSe. 


At the corner of Broadway and the street 
where little Rolf Kingman lives, there is a 
small, neat grocery store kept by a man 
named Jacob Dilber. Jacob is red-faced and 
rough looking, but he has a good character 
in the neighborhood, and Friend Haviland, 
who lives just opposite Rolf, buys all her 
groceries of him because he wont sell any 
kind of liquor. 

She was in the store one morning, buying 
some Kennedy wafers, when Rolf's round 
head, under his broad-brimmed hat, showed 
itself in the door-way. The shop was quite 
crowded, there being in it at least six peo- 
ple waiting to be served, and Jacob had a 
cross scowl on his face, for the street boys 
had teased him unmercifully that morning 
by pilfering apples and nuts from the barrels 
outside, and he had discovered a counterfeit 
trade dollar in his money drawer. Friend 
Haviland had not seen him so "put out" 
for months. 

" Can't stand it ! " he muttered, as he was 
writing down his orders. " Must have some 
protection 'gainst a set of mis'rable, good-for- 
nothing loafers ! I '11 teach 'em a lesson some day 
— just wait till I catch one ! No, Mrs. Smith," he 
said to a shabby-looking woman who asked him a 
question from the back of the store; ' ' eggs liave 
n't ris' ! I 've been lettin' you have 'em at cost 
price, and now I can't afford it. Got to make up 
deficiencies somehow ! " And Jacob's manner was 
gruff even to Friend Haviland, until, counting her 
change on the edge of the counter, he spied Rolf's 
big, blue eyes peering over it at him. In an instant 
Jacob's scowl vanished. A broad smile spread over 
his face, and he stopped short in the midst of his 
counting to bend his ear and listen to Rolf's won- 
derfully sweet, clear voice say, rather softly : 

"How do ye feel to-day, Mr. Dilber? Do ve 
feel well ? " 

" Pretty well ! Pretty well, I thank you, sir ! " 

answered Jacob, heartily. "And how Aoyou feel?" 

" I 'm all well," answered Rolf. " I have a 

scratch pussy made on my thumb," holding up a 

dimpled hand for Mr. Dilber's examination. "Oh, 

I forgot — it is n't that hand — it 's this one. 
But I 'm all well — good-bye ! " 

" Good-bye, my boy — good-bye! Come 
again to-morrow," said Jacob, covering the 
tiny hand with both his great ones, and 
watching the child as he stepped off a soap- 
box and quietly left the shop. 

Turning again to his duties, it was with 
quite a different manner that Jacob gave 
Friend Haviland her change. 

"Thirty-eight an' two are forty — fifty — 
a dollar. Can send 'em home for ye as well 
as not, Miss Haviland — no trouble at all. 
Thank you 'm ! Good morning, mum ! Now 
Mrs. Smith, what can I do for you ? Well 

— no matter. You can have the eggs for 
the same as usual — ten, twelve — there ! We 
'11 throw in one an' call it a 'baker's dozen.' 
Never mind thanks — we must do a good 
turn for one another sometimes. That lit- 
tle chap does me a good turn most every 
day. I 'm so used to seeing his bit of a rig- 
ger coming in and stepping up on that box 
to ask me how I feel, that it 's like organ 
music to me. I keep that box (he shoved 
it there himself one day) o' purpose — he 
can't see over the counter without it ; and 
every day, sure as the sun shines, he trots 
down just to inquire about my feelings ! He 
wont take anything, — not a seed-cake even, 

— and there 's something in his way that makes 
ye think of all the angels at once, and it sets me 
up for the day. There 's a mighty power in just 
a pleasant word now and then." 

When Rolf left the shop, he trudged back to his 
own door-step. There he found one of the very- 
ragamuffins who had been pilfering some of Mr. 
Dilber's nuts ; he was now cracking them with a 
piece of a brick. Rolf was very fond of human kind, 
and his mother's prejudices made nuts a rarity. 
So he sat down on the bottom step by the ragamuf- 
fin and said, " Who are you ?" 

" 1 'm Tim Riley," said the boy. "Who are 
you ?" 

" I 'm Roily Kingman, and I 'm most as big as 
you," said Rolf. " I 'm growin' longer every day. 



My mamma found a dress what I wore once, and 
it's too little for me and Willie 's got to wear it." 

"I guess she must 'a' found it with a spy-glass 
— an' I guess Willie 's a sparrer ! " said Tim. 
" Where did you come from ? " 

" From Mr. Dilbcr's ; an' I live in this house, 'an 
I have a kitty an' a little brother," said Roily. 

" Did ye get any nuts at Dilber's ? " asked Tim. 

" No. I did n't ask him for any," said Roily. 

'• Ho! Well, afore ye get many yards longer, 
ye '11 find out that it wastes time to ask for wot ye 
want. Never mind, though — ye can have that," 
said Tim, trying to get his teeth into an impossible 
inside corner of a walnut, and throwing half a one 
into Rolf's lap. 

" Did Mr. Dilber give it to you 'thout your 
asking him ? " said Roily, thoughtfully. 

" Ho ! Of course not ! I tuk it when he was n't 

" What did ye go to the shop for, if ye did n't 
want sumpthin' ? an' what '11 ye do with a nut if 
ye don't eat it? " asked Tim. 

"I'll give it back to Mr. Dilber," said Rolf. 
"It's his, an' it aint — aint " 

Rolf was instinctively a gentleman, and thought 
an instant before he said : '' It aint anybody else's. 
I don't go to get nuts — I go to ask Mr. Dilber how 
does he feel." 

Tim giggled and said: "Well, I guess he said 
he felt kind o' peppery this mornin' — did n't he ? " 

"No," said Rolf, quietly. "He said he 

felt pretty well, 
No — I really 
head several 
expression of 
much anxiety, 
and looking up 

but I don't think he did. 
N. don't." Roily shook his 

times with an 



good. Eat 
aid Rolf, squeezing it tight in 

lookin'. Why don't ye eat it? It 

" Don't want to 
his little fist. 

" Laws ! " said Tim. " Ye need n't be so savin 
— ye can get plenty of 'em, if ye watch round." 

"Don't want to get any," said Rolf. "An 
I 'm not goin' to eat it at all." 

into Tim's face, said, mysteriously. " He had a 
trouble ! " 

" Ye don't mean it !" said Tim. "What kind 
of a trouble could it 'a' been, I wonder ? " 

"I don't know," said Rolf. "But he's got it, 
for he writed it in a book — I saw him ! An' I 'm 
goin' to ask my mamma what makes people well 
when they have troubles. But first I '11 give him 
back this piece of a nut. If ye want me to. I 'II — 
I '11 — I '11 take them other ones back what you 've 
got, an' I'll give 'em to him for ye." And Rolf 
said this in such a pleasant voice, holding out his 
hand so prettily, that Tim felt something stirring 




within him which he had never felt before. Some- 
how, that last bit of a nut had lost its fine flavor, 
and he rattled the others uneasily in his pockets. 

" I '11 do it, if ye want me to," said little Rolf 
again, — "only 1 wont give him back those" — 
pointing to the broken shells on the step — " 'cause 
you Ve ate 'em up — all what 's good. But when 
you get a penny, you can buy some at the store, 
an' you can give 'em back then. Or, if you don't 
want to, you can give 'em to me, an' / '// give 'em 
back, an' " 

"Oh, bother !" interrupted Tim. " How 'm I 
ever goin' to git a penny ? Nobody ever gives 
me a cent ! But ye can take these, if ye likes 
— only don't let on that it was me. Don't tell him 
/ took 'em — will ye ? " 

" No," said Rolf, quite delighted to see the nuts 
emptied into his lap. " I '11 tell him it 's a secret ! 
Is it a secret ? " 

" Yes — 'course it is," said Tim. 

" Then I must n't tell anybody," said Rolf. " If 
you tell a secret to more than just one person, it 
is n't a secret any more — my papa says so." And 
so saying, the little fellow gathered his skirts into 
a knot to accommodate the nuts, and traveled off a 
second time to Mr. Dilber's. 

Very soon he came running back, and his big 
eyes shone as he said to Tim : " I put 'em all out 
on the counter, an I told Mr. Dilber / did n't take 
'em, but a boy did — a boy what 's sorry, an' wont 
do it another time, an' I said the boy's name was 
a secret. An' I guess it 's good for troubles to take 
back things, 'cause it made Mr. Dilber laugh. So 
now he can 'cratch the trouble out of his book if 
he wants to." 

Now, Rolf was too little to understand what he 
had done. A child so .carefully reared as he was 
acquires a sense of justice at a very early age, and 
he took back the nuts without any real sense of the 
fact that Tim had stolen them, or that it was a 
crime to steal, but simply as he would give his little 
brother a toy which belonged to him. The nuts 
were Mr. Dilber's, and Mr. Dilber ought to have 
them — that was all. 

But Tim was nearly twice as old as Rolf, and 
understood the lesson better. When Rolf's mother 
called him in, Tim sat still a long while thinking. 
He had heard plenty of people talk about steal- 
ing, and been addressed many a time as a young 
sinner, and called to repentance. But nobody 
had ever made him want to repent before. 
"There he was — nothin' but a baby," said Tim 
to himself, " settin' aside o' me an' lookin' up to 
me as if I was just exackly as good as him ! An' 
he kind o' laughed up beautiful in my face, an' he 
looked as if he was as good — right through to his 
bones — as — as a hull church ! I wisht his mother 

had n't 'a' called him in ! I guess if she 'd seen 
him talkin' to me, though, she 'd 'a' called him 
sooner. Laws! wouldn't she have been scared? 
Why, he don't know nothin' bad, I don't b'lieve ! 
An' I know how to steal" — and Tim counted over 
his sins on his fingers — " to steal, an' to fight, an' 
to tell lies — my, o/i / such rousin' ones as I can 
tell 'd take the crinkle out o' her hair in a jiffy ! 
All the same," he said, heaving a great sigh as he 
rose and looked up at the windows, " I wisht she 
had n't called him in ! I would n't let on to him 
what I knows — an' I wisht I had a penny ! " 

The next day, Rolf left his tin cart on the door- 
step while he ran down to Mr. Dilber's. When he 
came back the cart was gone, and there was a 
scuffle among some boys farther down the street. 
Rolf drew himself together, looking very forlorn, 
and was just about to raise a cry when out from 
the group of quarreling boys darted Tim with the 
cart. Racing as fast as his legs could take him to 
Rolf's house, he placed the toy in the child's hands, 
and squared round in front of him, with fists ready 
for the boys, if necessary. But they, seeing the 
front door open, passed on with only a few sneers 
for Tim's benefit. Tim, betousled, sat down to 
right his much abused cap, and to get his breath. 

" Those boys are n't polite ! " said Rolf. 

"They aint never been to ' Lasco's Dancin' 
'Cademy' roun' the corner — so ye must n't spect 
too much of 'em," said Tim, adding, with signifi- 
cant gestures, "they've just had a little dance 
that '11 teach 'em sumpthin', though ! " 

The boys had another conversation which lasted 
until Rolf was called in, as usual. But the next 
day, and every day when Rolf went out for his little 
airing, he found Tim on the lookout for him, and 
their acquaintance grew rapidly. It was Rolf's 
custom to play out-of-doors, and take his little trip 
to Dilber's grocery while his mother dusted the 
parlors, looking out of the windows or stepping to 
the door now and then to see if her boy was safe. 
Tim watched his chance and talked to Rolf when 
she was not in sight, for he held to his first idea 
that she would be troubled to see them together, 
and he would run away at the first sound of her 
voice. Rolf naturally repeated things which " a 
boy " had told him, and she saw them together 
sometimes, but she knew that Rolf was social in 
his disposition, and, not recognizing Tim, thought 
only that the boys passing along the street ex- 
changed greetings with the child. 

But the two were growing meanwhile very fond 
of each other. They had formed a friendship with 
which time had little to do. Rolf, in his baby way, 
accepted Tim as a stanch defender of his rights 



and his confidential friend. And Tim grew to 
love the little fellow as he had never loved anything 
or anybody in his life before. 

One day Rolf failed to appear, and although 
Tim tried several times from the opposite pave- 
ment, he caught no glimpse of him at any of the 

The next day, and the next, and many days 
went by and Tim did not see his little friend. He 
went at all hours to look at the house ; but, al- 

asked Jacob, gruffly. " An' how do ye dare set foot 
on that box when it 's put there for him to stand 
on when he comes down to the shop? I wont 
have anybody touch that box — I wont ! It stands 
there just where he shoved it himself — an' I'll 
break anybody's bones who touches it ! " 

Not a whit did Tim care for Jacob's scolding. 
He only squeezed his hands hard together and 
cried: "I '11 go, an' I wont touch nothing never, 
if ye '11 just tell me what 's come to Roily ! Roily 

r r ^^ yr. 


though he saw every other person who lived in it, 
' even the cat through the basement blinds, he 
saw no Rolf, and his heart was troubled. 

One day it occurred to him to ask Mr. Dilber 
what was the matter, and he walked into the shop. 
He was greeted by being ordered out at once. 
Instead of obeying, he walked up to the counter 
and, putting his foot on the soap-box which Rolf 
used to stand upon, was about to speak, when 
Jacob, whose back had been turned for an instant, 
saw him and made a dive for him. Tim sprang 
toward the door and squared off, shouting at the 
top of his voice : " I tell ye I don't want nothing, 
an' I would n't take it if ye gave it to me ! I want 
to know 'bout Roily Kingman ! " Here there was 
a catch in Tim's voice, and he added huskily : 
" What 's come to him ? " 

It was Roily 's name that caught Jacob's atten- 
tion — not the catch in Tim's voice. 

"What do you know about him? An' what 
business is it of yours what 's come to him ? " 

likes me, an' nobody ever did afore, an' they never 
will. Oh, what 's come to him, Mr. Dilber?" 

Jacob saw misery in the boy's face, and his tones 
softened as he said: "Well, boy, they say he 's 
near to death's door ! An' may be, by this time — 
may be the Lord Himself has come to him ! " 

Tim's cry was n't a loud one, but it was desolate. 
He dropped his head and trembled. He was turn- 
ing to go, when his eye lighted on Rolly's box. 
Jacob did not interfere with him then, when he 
dropped on his knees before it, and, rubbing it 
with his ragged sleeves, said: "I wont — wont 
put my foot on it again — no, I — I wont — but — 
O Roily ! Roily!" and his poor face was pressed 
down on the box and his tears fell upon it fast. 

It was many weeks afterward that Roily sat up 
in his crib one morning, cutting paper soldiers 
and waiting for Tim. For Tim was coming to 




see him ! The Doctor had told about the poor 
boy who waited for him every day in cold or wet, 
whether the sun shone or the rain fell, only to hear 
how Roily was: 

Tim had been hunted up and taken care of. He 
had — but wait! Let him tell his good fortune 
himself to Roily. 

"Halloo !" said Roily, when Tim showed him- 
self with a bunch of lilacs in his hand. If Roily 
had been older, he would have seen Tim's clean face 
and neat clothes before he spied the lilacs. As it 
was, he had sniffed at the flowers a good while be- 
fore he said again: "Halloo! you 've got a new 
jacket ! " And it was then that Tim told what had 
happened to him. 

"Ye see," said he, "the Doctor axed me to 
hold his horse, an' then he seen me everyday, an' 
the horse an' me got 'quainted. An' the Doctor 
was 'stonished 'cause I held on to the horse when 
the fire ingines went by. But before that, he 
knowed you an' me was friends. An' I said nobody 
did n't know me much 'cept Mr. Dilber, an' he 
would n't say nothin' good for me, 'cause I used to 
crib nuts an' things. But I was n't fair to Mr. Dil- 
ber, for he told the Doctor that he thought if I had 
a chance I 'd learn how to b'have myself in time. 
'Certain sure,' says he, 'he has n't touched any- 
thin' o' mine since Roily Kingman was took sick ! ' 
So the Doctor tried me, an' I 'm his boy, an' the 
horse an' him both likes me, an' I 'm earnin' my 

clothes (your mother gave me two suits to start 
with) till I show 'em I can keep my tongue in my 
head and 'tend to my business. But I 've got a 
secret, Roily, that I 'm not goin' to tell to any one 
but you ! " And Tim seized his opportunity while 
Rolf's mother left the room for a moment. 
"Roily," he whispered, "do ye mind them nuts I 
took that day ? " 

Roily nodded. 

" Well," said Tim, " I told the Doctor, when he 
talked to me about earnin' my clothes, that I did 
n't want no money but just a penny, an' if he 'd 
give me that I would n't ax for another cent. So 
he did. An' this is the secret : I bought a cent's 
worth o' them same nuts, an' I watched round till 
Mr. Dilber did n't see me, an' then I just put every 
one of 'em back in the barrel !" 

Roily laughed as if he thought the secret was a 
capital one. 

" I '11 tell ye sumpthin' else, too," continued 
Tim. "I'm learnin' at night school, an' I 'm 
?mlearnin' ! I used to know heaps o' bad things, 
but since I tuk those nuts back, an' unlearned how 
to — how to — steal, ye know — it's lots easier than 
I thought it 'd be to unlearn the other things. An' 
since you 've been my friend, Roily, somehow it 's 
harder to do bad things than it used to be, an' I 
think if you 're my friend long enough, why bimeby 
I '11 forget how altogether an' quite entirely for 
evermore !" 


A Children's Play for C-lirisimas-Tide. In Tivo Acts, 

By Ruth Ogden. 


Polly : a little village maid. Jack : Polly's younger brother. 

Father Pine: an elderly pine. 

Mother Pine: " " " 

<, Two promising young Pinelets, 
) sons to Father and Mother Pine. 
C Four queer little fellows, aids-de- 
l camp to Santa Claus. 

Cone and Scrub : 

Neddie Shed, Louis Screw 
Felix Dean, Tiny, Mite: 


A snow-covered hill-side in New England. 

N. B. — For parlor representation, sides and background of some 
rich, red color, bordered with pine-boughs at the top, will be 
found most effective. The four pine-trees included in the dramatis 
pers07ue must be of varying heights, and should be placed at the 
rear of the stage. Green is the best color for covering the floor. 

An ingenious arrangement of cotton on and about the trees will 
give the effect of snow; and a low fence, running directly across 
the front of the stage, will lend a certain finish to the scene. 

The snow coverlid needed in the play should be made of some 
red materia], generously covered with cotton, and should be folded, 
ready for use, on the floor at the front of the stage. Two low benches 
will be needed. These should be placed one on either side toward 
die forward part of the stage. The members of the Pine family are 
to be impersonated by children, concealed behind the various trees, 
with only heads and arms showing. Father and Mother Pine 
must be placed respectively at the back of the largest trees. 

Mother Pine's costume should be distinguished from the rest 
by a wide-frilled green cap, tied under the chin ; a baby held in her 
arms may be impersonated by a large doll in green long-clothes. 
Father Pine, attired in a broad-brimmed green hat, should be 
smoking a pipe. It may be necessary to cut away a few branches, 
in order to allow the children to stand close to the main stems of the 
trees, and to afford them free play of the arms. As the Pine family 
is necessarily stationary, as much expression as possible must be 
thrown into voice and gesture. 

The four aids-de-camp should be respectively costumed in red, 
blue, green, and yellow. Imitations of Kate Greenaway costumes 
will prove most effective for Jack and Polly. 

i88 3 .] 

A M O N ( 1 T H E P I N E S . 


Curtain rises to piano accompaniment of the Pine-tree 
carol : 

z* *z 



'T is mer- ry Christ - mas - tide, Tin 

=3====j£f===i==1= 1 3 = i-|— I r==j | ~j 






air is filled with glnd - ness. Bid gloom de-part from 

==i=i==!==i=p===;=3=^=p«— J — !==£= 








tt=t=ti==*=tE=:j=-— =4==l 
ev - ery heart, A truce to care and sad - ness. Then 


? -=g=i=«=g=g=: :g~' »= :g a > ff " 

join our Christmas song, And swell the mer - ry 
2 — I 1 — =r= 

=1 ==]=l=r =1 rpj==-j — ,-f=!==|=:=;==d=q 

* -* -» -»- * -S- ■*■ S- -»- * • •*■ 






3==3= S S= 
clio - rus, While snow lies white this fros - ty night, And 






I i r 


2. Between bright holly-leaves 
Lo! berries red are glowing! 

The ivy vine climbs round the pine 
From very love of growing. 


3. And we, this frosty eve, 

Our Christmas watch are keeping ; 

While cradled low, beneath the snow, 
Frail summer blooms are sleeping. 


4. Bleak winter storms we brave 
With joyous exaltation, 

Right proud to be the Christmas-tree 
Of every Christian nation. Chorus. 

Father Pine {gruffly]. It takes a pretty stout heart 
to sing that song to-night; that is, with any feeling. 

Cone Pine. Why, Pa? Why? 

Scrub Pine. Yes; what 's the matter, Daddie? I "m 
sure I feel as jolly as a sixpence. {Begins to whistle.] 

Mother Pine. Be still, this minute! 

Father Pine. Jolly as a sixpence ! To be sure you 
do ! You 're a flighty young thing, with scarce sense 
enough to understand the reason why we should all feel 
anything but jolly. Do you forget that this has been 
the first Christmas-day, for many a year, when someone 
of us has not been carried off for a Christmas-tree ? 
I 'm ashamed of the family. We are degenerating. 

Cone Pine. Not a bit of it. Pa ! Just look at me ! 

Mother Pine. Yes, Conie, you are certainly very 
promising; and yet, I doubt if you will ever be wanted 
for a tree. You are a little spindly, and not quite straight. 
You see, a wood-cutter sat down on you when vou were 
young, and you never seemed to get over it. 

Scrub. Would I do, Ma ? 

Mother Pine. Yes ; I am sure you would, Scrubbie; 
but no one {sighing heavily] has cared for even the best 
of us, this year. Your father and I, my dear, have been 
content to live right on here, trusting that you would 
each be a Christmas-tree in vour day. 

Father Pine. Well, — come what will, three of this 
family have been Christmas-trees in their day, and very 
fine ones, too. There 's great comfort in that. 

Cone. Well, 1 'm satisfied. It seems to me a deal 
more fun to keep sprouting here with the rest of you 
the n to be tricked out in pop-corn and gimcracks for an 
evening, and then thrown into some one's back-yard to 
die. 1 don't mind being crooked and spindly, if it 
keeps an old wood-cutter from chopping me down. 

Mother Pine. Why, Conie! You can not tell how 
it grieves me to hear you talk in this fashion. Ah, what 
evil influences will group themselves about one station- 
ary little pine-tree. Tell me, Conie, from whom did you 
contrive to pick up so many queer expressions ? 

Cone. From an old wood-chopper. He said Pa was a 
tough old customer, and that there was mighty little sap 
left in you, Ma. Then he told us he had two children 
at home that he was bound to care for. They were n't 
his own, though. They belonged to a soldier-cousin of 
his who was killed in a war with the Indians. "Got a 
wife?" said I. ''Great grief, no! " said he. "I 'm a 
bachelor, every inch of me ; and yet 1 have to look out 
for a pair of youngsters. Hard luck, is n't it. sonny?" 
" Well, I don't know," I said. " Are thev nice children ? " 




"Depends upon what you call nice," said he; "they 're 
well favored as far as looks is concerned, and has kind 
of 'cute ways; but their appetites is fearful." 

Scrub Pine. He was a queer old chap, Ma ! I asked 
him what the children's names were. " What were they 
christened ? " said he. I did n't understand him ; but I 
was afraid he 'd dig his pickax into me if I seemed 
stupid; so I said, "Yes, sir; that 's what I mean." 
" Say so, then," said he. " One \s called Jack, and 
t' other Polly ; but their regular cognomens is John and 

Cone Pine {interrupting]. Then I asked him, Ma, 
if he was going to have a Christmas-tree for them, 
which made him look awful mad, and he said: "My 
eyes ! young offshoot, what do you take me for ? It 's 
'bout all I can manage to keep 'em in food, and clothes, 
and fuel, let alone any such nonsense as a Christmas- 
tree. Besides, they 've been extra troublesome lately, 
and don't deserve a single thing." Then he looked cross 
enough, and said he was tired answering questions, and 
he 'd advise all us little pinelets to shut right up, if we 
did n't want to be cut down for firewood. 

Mother Pine [very much shocked]. You should 
have known better, both of you, than to have anything 
to do with a man like that. Why, every other word he 
used was slang. You are a great grief to me, Conie. 

Cone Pine. "Great grief " is slang, Ma! 

Mother Pine [severely]. Not when I use it. 

Scrub Pine [innocently]. What is slang, Pa ? 

Father Pine. It is a concise but vulgar form of 
expression, originating in institutions of learning, and 
much in vogue among young men and women of the 
present day. A really high-toned pine-tree would never 
indulge in it. You had better write it down, boys. 
Where are your slates ? 

Cone and Pine. Here, Pa ! [Producing slates with 
pencils attached.] What shall we write? 

Father Pine. Write just what I told you. 

Cone and Scrub. What was it about, Pa ? 

Father Pine. About slang, I believe. 

Cone and Scrub. But, Pa! What about slang? 

Father Pine [impatiently]. I do not at the moment 

recall what I said, but never mind ! Write it down, all 

the same, commencing with a capital I. 

[Cone and Scrub slowly draw a large I on their slates; then scratch 
their heads and seem to be puzzled. Jack and Pollv are heard 
singing softly, as if in the distance, the first verse of the 
Christmas hymn. The Pine family look surprised, and listen 

Cone and Scrub. Why — what — is — that? 

Father Pine [peering into the distance]. It 's two 
children ; they are coming this way. 

Mother Pine [eagerly]. Let them come. Don't 
frighten 'em. 

Cone and Scrub. Pa ! 

Father Pine. Silence, I say ! both of you. Eyes 
right — so as not to embarrass them. 

Cone Pink [looking furtively to the left]. It 's a boy 
and a girl, Pa. 

Father Pine. Be quiet. Ii you speak again I '11 

pull you up by the roots. 

[Jack and Pollv enter from the left and, while walking about among 
the trees, as if in a place unfamiliar to them, sing first and second 
verses of Christmas hymn, [ 

Christmas hymn : 


The brave sweet tones of Christ - mas chimes Are 



1 -T 

rr— j 


"^ 1 


dis - 

cord .... 

: S 




-m — 
-• — 

\\ on - 







" 1 



1 — 




1 ^ 

2. " Good-will to men," the blessed strain 

Is ringing far and wide; 

And all who will may feel the thrill 

Of joyous Christmas-tide. 

3. Let loving words, and loving deeds 
Crowd out each sad regret; 

For one short day, good Christians may 
Their cares and toils forget. 

Jack [interrupting at close of second verse]. Oh, 
Polly ! Don't let 's go no ftirder. These mittens are 
n't worth a cent for keeping out the cold. 

Polly. Blow your fingers this way, Jack. Don't 
give up yet. Where will this year's mittens be coming 
from, if we don't find Santa Claus ? Let 's sing another 
verse, and try and keep our spirits up till we do find him. 

[The children wander about once again, and sing third verse of 

Jack [stopping abruptly.] It is n't any good. 

Polly. Oh, yes, it is. The little boy said, you know, 
that Santa Claus lived in a cottage, on a snowy hill among 
the pines. 

Jack. Well ! here 's the hill, and the pine-trees, and 
the snow; but you can see for yourself there 's no sign 
of a cottage. [Confidentially] I guess the little boy lied. 

Father Pine. Tut ! tut ! tut ! never say that. 

Jack and Polly [looking up surprised]. Never say 
what ? 

Father Pine. Lied, to be sure! say prevaricated; 
it means the same thing, and sounds better. 

POLLY [accusingly]. If we 'd known you were listen- 
ing, we would n't have said anything. But wdio ever 
heard of pine-trees hearing and talking ? 

Mother Pine. There are a great many wonderful 

i88 3 .] 



things, my dear, which such a small child as yourself 
may be presumed nol to have heard of. 

Jack. And can you eat ? 

Cone and Scrub. Can we ! 

Jack. What did you say ? 

Cone and Scrub. We said we could. 

Jack. Could what? 

Cone and Scrub. Why, eat, to be sure ! 

Jack. And do you like candy rabbits ? 

Cone and Scrub. Love 'em. 

Jack [producing a piece of candy~\. I have only a part 
of one. A little boy gave it to me who got it for his 
Christmas. But I guess I had better give it to the baby. 
May she have it, Mrs. Pine ? 

Mother Pine. Certainly, my dear, if you do not 
want it yourself. 

Jack. But I do. 

Mother Pine. Then keep ii. 

Jack. Xo, I wont ! There, then ! [handing it to Mother 
Pine for the baby]. My Sunday-school teacher says," There 
's no credit in giving only what you 've got no use for." 

Cone and Scrub. Three cheers for Jack! Hip 

Jack [interrupting'}. Oh, please don't both talk at 
once ! It frightens me so ! 

Cone and Scrub. We wont, then. 

Jack. But you 're doing it now [very despairingly]. 

Cone and Scrub. We wont do it again. 

Father Pine. See that you don't, boys. I will not 
allow it. But look here, Jack and Polly, tell me what 
do you want way up here ? for it 's growing late, and you 
ought to be at home, and in bed. Where do you live ? 

Polly. In that little cottage, yonder, way down at the 
foot of the hill. You can just see the light in the kitchen 
window from here. 

Jack [sadly]. But you can't smell the muffins. 

Polly. Never mind, Jack ! What 's muffins to find- 
ing Santa Claus ? [ Turning to Father Pine. ] I guess 
you must have heard us say, sir, that we were hunting 
for Santa Claus. We want to talk matters over with 
him. Our Uncle Dick says we do not deserve any 
presents ; but don't you think it 's pretty hard for little 
folks like us not to have just a little Christmas ? 

Cone and Scrub [indignantly]. To be sure we do. 

Jack. There ! You 've broken your promise. 

Cone and Scrub. Beg your pardon, Jack ; we forgot. 

Jack. Well, please don't forget again. 

Polly. You see, Mr. Pine, Jack thinks he 'II be a 
better boy next year, and I know I shall be a better girl ; 
so if we could only see Santa Claus our own selves and 
tell him so, I believe he would give us something. We 
really need it. We have no father nor mother, and Jack's 
mittens — look — are almost worn out. 

Father Pine [gravely']. But how can I help you, 
my clear ? Santa Claus does not live here. 

Polly. Does n't he ? 

Jack. No wheres near ? 

Father Pine. Whoever told you he did, prevaricated. 

Don't forget that word ; say it after me : pre-var-i-ca-ted. 

Now ! all together ! 

Cone and Scrub. ) „ , 

, „ . Pre-var-i-ca-ted. 

Jack and Polly. \ 

[The dwarfs, or aids-de-camp to Santa Claus. are heard singing the 
air of " Homeward March " softly in the distancej 

Father Pine. Really, I 'm very sorry for you ; I 

Jack [listening to the music], Oh ! what is that ? 

Father Pine. Only the boys, singing as they come 

Jack and Polly [excitedly]. And who are the boys? 

Father Pine. Oh, a jolly set of fellows who live up 
here. Crawl in under my boughs, and they wont see you ; 
but they would not hurt you if they did. 

[Dwarfs enter, keeping step to the music, and when fairly upon the 
stage commence singing. Descriptive gestures introduced at 
the same moment by each little dwarf, and of studied similarity, 
will add greatly to the " taking" properties of the song.] 

Homeward March : 



_t nz .. -p*- 

-t — 1 ->— - — 

skies so chill and gray. We*ve trudged, worn-out and 




s c^-*=J=i==T-F=) 

$t:m-i=t=l= ^=^= :=i==i= =1 

wen - ry, This live - long day. But no wise el - fin 






rov - er Need an - y tav-ther roam, 





Never were dwarfs enlisted in such a worthy cause 
As we while we 've assisted good Santa Claus. 
More work had he last season than lie could fully do ; 
And for this simple reason, we 've helped him through. 

Such scores of wee doll-mothers waited in every town; 
Such ranks of baby brothers, lately come down. 
And 't would have been so shocking, if any girls or boys, 
Op'ning their Christmas stocking, had found no toys. 

Therefore, with hearts most willing, we 've worked our 

level best — 
Hundreds of stockings tilling, no thought of rest. 
Such dolls ! such wondrous treasure ! Such stacks of 

ginger-bread ! 
Have we, with keenest pleasure, dis-trib-u-ted. 

Just what each child expected, we 've served on ev'ry 

hand — 
Not one has been neglected in this great land. 
So now, each conscience easy, softly to bed we '11 creep, 
And in this bedroom breezy, all fall asleep. 

[During the singing of the last four lines, the dwarfs crawl under the 
snow coverlid, and fall asleep, resting their right elbows on the 
floor, and their heads on their right hands.] 

Jack [after a pause, and in a stage whisper]. Oh, 
please, I do not like it. I want to go home. 

Polly [dragging him from under the boughs of the 
tree~\. Now, Jack, don't be afraid! If they are such 
good friends of Santa Claus, they '11 do something for 
us. We '11 ask them. [Starts to touch one of them."] 

Jack. Oh, no ! no ! no ! Don't waken 'em ! They 're 
very tired, and they '11 be awful mad. 

Polly. No, they wont. I '11 risk it, and waken the 
one that seems kindest [walking from one to the other, 
and bending over each critically'] . Snappish — cross — all 
worn out — rather grouty — Well! none of them look 
very kind, asleep. 

Father Pine. Children! [in a subdued tone.] 

Jack and Polly. Yes, sir. 

Father Pine. Sing a verse of your little hymn. It 
will waken them all at once, and waken them in a good 
humor. They are very susceptible to music. 

[Jack and Polly sing a verse of the Christmas hymn in a frightened 
manner, and the dwarfs begin to yawn and stretch, and at the 
conclusion of verse sit bolt upright, with folded arms, and look 
wonderingly at the children.] 

Polly [timidly]. Please, sirs, we — we — we heard 
you say you had been working for Santa Claus, and that 
no child had been forgotten ; but, please, sirs, you are 
mistaken. When Jack and I woke up this morning 
there was nothing for us; not — one — single — thing. 
Uncle Dick, who lakes care of us, says he did not tell 
Santa Claus about us, because we did not deserve any 
presents. Then we both cried very hard, and were so 
disappointed, till a little boy told us Santa Claus lived 
somewhere up here, and gave Jack a candy rabbit what 
he had gotten for his own Christmas. So that is how 
we came up, trying to find him ; for really we have not 
been so very bad. You see, it seems so to Uncle Dick 
because he is not fond of children. Now, could you do 
anything for us, sirs ? 

JACK [beseechingly]. Yes; could you ? 

All hie Dwarfs [rising]. Yes ; we could. 

Louis Screw. And we could hang your old Uncle 
Dick. He deserves it. How would you like that ? 

Polly [decidedly]. Oh, we would not like that, sir ; 
'cause then there would be no one at all to care for us. 

Jack. Besides, you see, he 's the muffin man, and 
makes splendid muffins what he sells out of a little cart. 
[Thoughtfully.] We 'd rather you would not hang him. 

Felix Dean. We wont, then! But now, look here: 
tell us, what would you like for Christmas ? 

Jack. A great, big tree. 

Polly. With pretty lanterns. 

Jack, [holding up his hands]. And some mittens ! 

Polly. And books. 

Jack. And a sled, and roller-skates, and candy — lots 
of candy — and a velocipede. 

Tiny Mite [sarcastically, and in a piping voice]. Is 
that all ? 

JACK [slowly]. Yes; — that's all, — I think. 

Neddie Shed. Well, you shall have them. Sit down 

yonder, on those little benches, and we '11 fix things up 

for you. 

[Jack and Polly sit down on the little benches, and the Dwarfs, 
taking hold of hands, dance, to the music of the Lantern Song, 
in front of Father Pine, during which the curtain falls.] 


(During the intermission between the acts. Father Pine must be 
trimmed with the usual Christmas-tree decorations. This proc- 
ess need consume but very little time, as only the side of the 
tree visible to the audience requires decoration. Some of the 
toys enumerated by Jack and Polly should be placed at its 
base. The curtain rises, discovering Jack and Polly still seated 
upon the little benches. ] 

Cone and Scrub \_looking in wonder at Father 
Pine.~\ Oh, Ma! Just look at Pa! Is n't he splendid? 

Mother Pine. Yes, dears, splendid. I always knew 
he had it in him to make a beautiful Christmas-tree. 
What wonderful miracle-workers these little dwarfs are, 
to be sure ! To think that only a moment ago he was 
a sober, green pine, like the rest of us, and now — 
well! is n't he magnificent, Polly? 

Polly \with a long-drawn sigh.~\ Yes, magnificent. 

Jack. But it seems to me, a regular Christmas-tree 
needs candles, or lanterns, or something. 

Father Pine. You ungrateful little thing! You 
ought to be only too thankful to have any tree at all — 
but, hark ! 

[Enter the Dwarfs, each carrying lighted red lanterns, {the ordinary 
isinglass lanterns which come specially prepared for Christmas- 
trees are the best for this purpose), and keeping time to the 
music of the following song. Neddie Shed leads the rest, 
and coming to the front of stage, sings the Lantern Song, dur- 
ing which the other dwarfs fasten the lighted lanterns to the 
tree. Here again descriptive gestures on the part of the solo- 
ists will add greatly to the effectiveness of the song. The lights 
on the stage should be lowered to make the dwarfs' lanterns 
more effective.J 


O I'm Ned-die Shed of the Ian - tern red, And 



i8S 3 .] 




'- ; 


red are the leaves when 

sum - mer 

, fled, And 


loft on the gal - lant ships.... Then hang the red 

n — 1 — — 

i|P|I^|p 1 

Ian-terns 011 ev - ery bough And twig ot llie Christmas 






111 1 I ! 


1 1 1 

1 1 1 


■*" ♦ 



red are the mar - i - ner's lights that Hare A ■ 

I I 



* s» 

* — »- F» 


Pine,... For no Christmas-tree could com-plet - ed 








be With - out these red lights of { JjH™' ■ 




[ 7%£ Chorus should be sung by the Dwarfs and the PlNE 
Family, the Dwarfs coming to front of stage and 
dancing in perfect time. ] 
Neddie Shed. 

And red are the rubies that maidens coy 

Contrast with their snow-white hands, 
And red are the seals which great kings employ. 

Indorsing their high commands ; 
And red is the rose whose op'ning bud 

The loveliest grace attains, 
And red is the silently coursing blood 
Which tingles in mortal veins. 
Chorus — Then hang, etc. 

[N. B. — If more time is required for arranging the lanterns than is 
allowed by the song, let the interlude between the two verses be 
a prolonged one. At close of second chorus the Dwarfs dance 
off the stage and directly back again, each carrying blue lighted 
lanterns, and Louis Screw leading the rest, with by-play same 
as before, and so in turn "Felix Dean, of the Lantern Green," 
and "Tiny Mite, of the Yellow Light."] 

Louis Screw. 

Oh, I 'm Louis Screw, of the lantern blue, 
And therefore a lord am I, 

6 4 



For blue are the flowers of tend'rest hue, 

And blue is the cloudless sky; 
And blue are the eyes of the maiden grave 

The sailor would make his bride, 
And blue is the sweep of the crested wave 

That kisses the brave ship's side. 


Then hang the blue lanterns on ev'ry bough 

And twig of the hardy pine; 
For who VI care to see a brave Christmas-tree 

Without these blue lights ofj , . 
Louis Screw. 

And blue are the turquoise, and wondrous rare, 

They set in the king's gold crown ; 
And blue is the robe he sees fit to wear 

On occasions of great renown ; 
And blue is the tiny forget-me-not. 

Which true lovers prize, I ween, 
While blood that is red in a Hottentot 

Is blue in a king or queen. 

Chorus: Then hang the blue lanterns, etc. 

Felix Dean. 

Oh, I 'm Felix Dean, of the lantern green, 

And therefore a lord am I, 
For green is the moss of the deep ravine, 

And green are its hemlocks high ; 
And green is the lane with tall, plumy ferns 

Where violets and harebells hide, 
And green is the signal the steamer burns 

All night on her starboard side. 

Chorus : 

Then hang the green lanterns on ev'ry bough 

And twig of the hardy pine; 
For grave as a rook any tree would look, 

Without these green lights of< .,. 

& & I thine. 

And green is the mermaid whose winning smile 

Exerts such a wondrous spell; 
And green are the' shores of blest Erin's isle, 

And green are her folk as well ; 
And green is the beautiful emerald stone, 

That all other gems outvies ; 
And green, with a green that is all their own, 

Are pussy-cats' brilliant eyes. 

Chorus: Then hang the green lanterns, etc. 
Tiny Mite. 

Oh, I 'm Tiny Mite, of the yellow light, 

And therefore a lord am I, 
For yellow 's the moon that shines at night 

So clear in the dark, dark sky ; 
And yellow of hair, I make bold to claim, 

Are ladies of high degree ; 
And yellow and bright is the beacon flame 

Which gleams o'er the storm-tossed sea. 

Chorus : 
, Then hang yellow lanterns on ev'ry bough 
And twig of the hardy pine ; 
For nothing, you know, can excel the glow 

Of these yellow lights of-; ., ■ 

1 . c thine. 

And yellow 's the ore that the goldsmith molds 

For bracelet and brooch and ring, 
And rich yellow gold is the cup which holds 

The wine of the royal king ; 
And yellow of hue is the primrose sweet 

Wherever maids chance to range, 
And yellow 's the coin which buys a seat 

For you in the Stock Exchange. 
Chorus: Then hang yellow lanterns, etc. 

[At conclusion of song the Dwarfs take their stand a little in the 
background, two on either side of the tree.] 

There, now, Jack, what do you 
I can't think. I 'm too 

Cone and Scrub 
think of that ? 

Jack. I don't think at 
happy to think. 

Neddie Shed. Come! help yourselves, children; 
step right up to the tree and help yourselves. 

Louis Screw [taking Jack by the hand]. Yes, in- 
deed! Come right along. Don't be bashful ! 

[Jack and Polly leave their benches and, while the air of the Christ- 
mas Hymn is played softly, appropriate some of the toys from 
the foot of the tree.] 

Polly [standing with her arms full of toys]. Oh, you 

have all been so very kind ! I 'm sure we never dreamt 
of anything like this. I do not see how you ever did it ! 
Tiny Mite. Of course you don't. We never tell 
how. Besides, you could not understand if we did. 

[Jack, loaded with toys, starts to walk quietly off the stage.] 

Polly. Jack ! Jack ! Where are you going ? 

Jack. Home. 

Polly. But you have not so much as thanked Mr. 
Dean and all the rest of them. 

Jack. What 's the use? I can't thank 'em enough. 

Polly. And is that any reason why you should not 
thank them at all? Come right back, Jack. 

[Jack obeys, and Polly takes him by the hand.] 

Polly. I would like to make you a fine little speech, 
sirs, because of all you have done for us ; but you would 
only wonder hozv I did it, and [slyly] I never tell how ; 
so I '11 just say that we are very much = 

Jack. Don't make such a fuss, Polly! Just say 
" Thanks " and be done with it. 

Father Pine. Oh, I do hope you will not "just 
say " anything of the kind. If there is a barbarous 
abbreviation in the English language, it is that word 
"Thanks." It is lazy; it is common. I sincerely hope 
it may never again be uttered in my presence. What 
has become of the courtly, old-fashioned "No, I thank 
you," and "Yes, I thank you " But I am lecturing. 

Polly [indignantly]. And Jack is almost crying, Mr. 

Father Pine. No cause for tears, Jack! Now run 
along home, and show your presents to your uncle. 

Jack [wistfully to the Dwarfs]. V/hat — what are you 
going to do with all the other things ? 

Neddie Shed. Well Suggestions are in order. 

Jack. I would like something for Uncle Dick, though 
he does not deserve anything. 

Polly. And there are a good many other people in 
the town besides Uncle Dick — real nice people, too. 

i88 3 .; 



Louis Screw. Is that so? Then I II tell you what 
we '11 do. Lay your toys down here; they'll be safe. 
Cone and Scrub will watch them, and we '11 all load up 
and carry some presents to your friends. l>o you 
approve of that, Miss Polly ? 

Polly. Why, I 'd rather do that than have a Christ- 
mas of my own. Would n't you, Jack ? 

Jack [hesitating],. No, I would n't ; but I think it 
would be very nice, very nice, indeed, to have both. 

Father Pine. That 's right, Jack; whatever else 
you do, always speak the truth, and now, Mother and 
Cone and Scrub, we can surely sing our old carol 
merrily enough. 

[The Pine family sing the Pine-tree Carol while Jack, Pollv, and 
the Dwarfs pass down among the audience and distribute presents 
or little souvenirs from the tree. It would be better, perhaps, 
to have the presents intended for distribution arranged on trays 





Vol. XI. 





By Edward W. Tuffley. 

On the 14th of June, 1777. the Continental 
Congress resolved "that the flag of the thirteen 
United States be thirteen stripes, alternate red 
and white ; that the union be thirteen stars, white 
in a blue field, representing a new constellation." 
This was the flag which, first unfurled by Captain 
John Paul Jones on the "Ranger," became the 
standard of the new American republic. It floated 
above the historic field of Yorktown, and fluttered 
from the north bastion of old Fort George when, 
one hundred years ago this very month of Novem- 
ber, the troops of King George evacuated the city 
of New York, and the long war of the Revolution 
was ended. 

Does any reader of St. Nicholas know why the 
stars and stripes were adopted as our national 
emblem ? Various theories have been advanced — 
from that which traces them to the "Union Jack" 
of England's flag to the highly poetical claim that 
the banner of the Union represents the crimson 
clouds of sunset blown into stripes by the free 
winds of heaven, and spangled with the evening 
stars just twinkling in the blue. But none of these 
can be proven, and, as one authority says, "the 
official origin of the 'grand Union' flag is involved 
in obscurity." 

Let me tell you, if I can, the story of the flag 
as I have been able to read it. 

Some twenty years ago, I drove, one fine sum- 
mer day, through pleasant country roads from the 
borough town of Northampton, some sixteen miles 
north-west of London, to a glorious old mansion 
standing in a spacious park amid the green wood- 
lands of Northamptonshire — Althorp House, for 
many generations the family-seat of the noble 
house of Spencer. I would like to introduce my 
young American readers to this great English es- 
tate, with its far-stretching fields and forests, its 
heronry (one of the very few still remaining in 
England), its dairy standing in the shadow of the 
ancestral oaks, its broad flower-beds and beautiful 
lawn, on which I saw such a funny sight — a mow- 
ing-machine drawn by a mule shod in leather boots 
so as not to injure the turf. I should like to tell 
you of the grand old house, with its state apart- 
ments, its superb antiquities, rich furniture, and 
rare paintings; its library, one of the finest in 
England, so lined with books that, once in, you can 
scarce find your way out : its patch-work bedroom, 
and other rare sights. But this is not part of my 

Copyright, 1S83, by Root & 

story. Althorp House is the home of Earl Spencer, 
now Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, and not far away 
stands the parish church of Brington, rich in 
monuments and memorials of the noble Spencer 
family. Passing down the aisle with the parish 
Clerk, he called my attention to an uninviting- 
looking spot — aboard about two yards long and 
one wide, covering part of the pavement.- Stoop- 
ing down, he removed the board and uncovered 
one of the old-time " brasses," so common in the 
parish churches of England — a piece of latten or 
sheet brass, set into the pavement of the church, 
and bearing an engraved inscription. 

" I wish to call your attention to this brass," said 
the clerk; "it is one to Robert Washington and 
his wife. They lived in this parish many years, 
and died in 1622, within a few days of each other. 
Here is their coat-of-arms," he continued. " See : 
the stars and stripes." 

"What!" I exclaimed, starting in surprise, 
" do you really mean that the American flag, the 
stars and stripes, was taken from the arms of the 
Washington family ? " 

" Most certainly I do," he replied. " Earl Spencer 
frequently brings American gentlemen here to see 
this brass. Mr. Motley, the historian, has been 
here, and so has Senator Sumner. " 

I was interested at once, for I am something of 
an antiquary. " But surely," said I, " few Ameri- 
cans can know of this. I wish I could take the brass 
away with me, but that is out of the question." 

" Why not take a rubbing in heel-ball on paper? " 
suggested the clerk. 

"The very thing," I replied; and I soon trans- 
ferred the whole inscription by what we call '■heel- 
ball," that is, an impression on paper in the way 
that boys take the impressions of pennies, by cover- 
ing them with paper and rubbing the surface vig- 
orously with a blunt pencil. 

I obtained a fair copy of the Washington brass, 
and, years after, traced the letters on gilt paper, so 
that I have a fac-simile of the brass as it now lies 
beneath the unattractive-looking board in Brington 
Church, and you will find a copy of it on the next 

Well, I carried my treasure home and read and 

re-read the rubbing — " Robert Washington, gent, 

second son of Robert Washington of Solgrave." 
" Sulgrave ? " I repeated. " I wonder if there are 

any Washington relics at Sulgrave ? " 

I wrote to the Vicar of Sulgrave and was politely 

Tinker. All rights reserved. 


6 7 

informed that there was a tomb to Laurence Wash- 
ington, bearing" several brasses, in Sulgrave Church. 
In reply to a second letter, the vicar kindly sent me 
rubbings, beautifully done on tracing-paper, of the 
Sulgrave brasses. First of these was the inscription 
placed on the tornb by Laurence Washington upon 
.the death of " Amee his wyf" in 1564, of which 
also a fac-simile is shown on this page. 

Z m c U| 

o > 5 ° 
8 5 P 5 



Next to this came 
the brasses of his 
numerous family — 
four sons and seven 
daughters — all very 
quaint in style, as 
will be seen by the 
sketches on page 68. 

1 t 

P I Iff 

If I si! 

*6, 1 *•- 

• f I = s - ! 

pi Hi 


113 s? |isf 

3 Ji "I J I 

1 § 






I .a 


° -v 

1 sj 

I 3 

yj .6 

•Is si Ps ■ 

11 j i ?-: 



I 11 



•2 J 1 


Then came the likeness of Laurence Washington, 
in his mayor's robes of black cloth trimmed with 
sable fur; for, as two of the five hundred shields 
of the mayors in the corridors of Northampton 
town-house bear record, the Worshipful Laurence 
Washington was twice mayor of Northampton — 
in 1532 and 1545.- 

The shield, much 
defaced by the feet 
of three centuries of 
worshipers, is hard 
to decipher. But, 
dim as are the out- 
lines, we may still 












trace there, on the pavement of Sulgrave Church, 
the shield bearing upon its face the Washington 
arms — the stars and stripes. 

Every boy and girl who studies English his- 
tory knows the sad and terrible story of "Bluff 
King Hal," Henry the Eighth of England, and 
his six unhappy wives. When, in 1533, this 
royal Blue-beard sought to marry fair Mistress 

Anne Boleyn, 
the Pope, Clem- 
ent the Seventh, 
seeing no just 
cause for the 
King's divorce 
from Queen 
Katherine, re- 
fused his con- 
sent. But the 
self-willed mon- 
arch, throwing 
off all allegiance 
to the Pope, pro- 
claimed himself 
" head of the 
Church," se- 
cured a divorce 
by English law, and 
married the fair 
Mistress Anne Bol- 
eyn, only (poor 
lady !) to cut off 
her head scarce 
three years after 
in his grim old 
Tower of Lon- 
don. And when 
King Henry had 
declared himself 
free of the "See 
of Rome," he 
took forcible 
possession of the 
religious houses 
in England, con- 
fiscated their 
money and di- 

gotten wealth is not always the most secure, and 
sometimes, as the old sayingis, it "spends badly." 
So with the Manor of Sul- 
grave. For we 
y^'WtSiKSJJS "ft)V'-~'^ _ \ learn that 


Robert Washington, Esquire, the next heir, getting 
into difficulties, was forced to 


ided the church 
lands among his 
friends and adherents. Now, the Worshipfu Washington, some time mayor of 
Northampton, was an adherent of the King, 
a clever lawyer, and a man to conciliate, and 
how better could King Henry make a fast 
friend of him than by presenting him with a 
" parcel of the dissolved priory of St. An- 
drews, Northampton," under the name of the Manor 
of Sulgrave? This was done in 1538. But easily 


and his son Laurence, grandson of the mayor, went 
back to Great Brington, and died there in 1616, as 

i88 3 . 


6 9 

the "mural record"on his tomb in Brington Church, 
bearing the shield with the stars and stripes, bears wit- 
ness. (In the Boston State House may be seen a fac- 
simile of this inscription, presented by Earl Spencer, 
through the instrumentality of Governor Andrew, 
Senator Sumner, and Jared Sparks, the biographer 
of George Washington.) Twice had the Washing- 
tons married into the lordly family of Spencer, and 
the removal to Brington was doubtless to be near 
their noble relatives, for, even in their days of 
adversity, we find the Washingtons to have been 
honored guests at Althorp House. John Wash- 
ington, second son of this second Laurence, and 
great-grandson of the mayor, was knighted at 
Newmarket in 1622 ; and, when the great civil war 
between king and parliament filled England with 
blood and blows, we find this Sir John Washington 
a stanch cavalier, fighting " for church and king." 
But poor King Charles lost his crown and his head 
in 1649, and Cromwell, the Protector, was by no 
means a comfortable "protector" of those who 
had taken sides with the King. At least, Sir John 
Washington found it so; for, in 1657, he left his 
pleasant home in Yorkshire, and emigrating to 
the New World, settled at Bridge's Creek, in 
Westmoreland County, in the colony of Virginia, 
where he soon afterward married Mistress Anne 
Pope. Thus was established the American line of 
the Washingtons, for General George Washington, 
first President of the United States, was great- 
grandson of this same Sir John, the emigrant, as 
Sir John was great-grandson of the first Laurence, 
twice mayor of Northampton and lord of the 
Manor of Sulgrave. 

This browsing among the Washington genealo- 
gies and studying of their monumental brasses and 
family records grew very interesting to me, and 
about a year ago 1 made a trip to Sulgrave on a 
search for Washington relics and memorials. There 
was the old church, and there, not far away, w-as 
the still older manor-house, part of the confiscated 
estates of the unfortunate priory of St. Andrew. 
I first visited the church and studied the brasses, 
of which I had received such excellent copies, and 
then turned my steps to the manor-house. The 
ancient home of the Washingtons belongs now to 
a farmer by the name of Cook, and is little more 
than a quaint and interesting ruin. A few signs of 
its former stability and grandeur may be traced ; 
but the window with the Washington crest, which 
Washington Irving mentions in his " Life of Wash- 
ington," is no longer to be seen, having been 
broken after it had been removed elsewhere "for 
safe keeping." The porch, or entrance, to the old 
manor-house still speaks, though somewhat shak- 
ily, of the early glory of the place ; and from the 
village doctor I was fortunate enough to obtain a 

plaster cast of the Washington arms which King 
Henry's adherent, the worshipful ex-mayor of 
Northampton, had placed above the porch of the 
mane: -house in 1540 — the now : familiar shield 
bearing on its face the stars and stripes. 

And now, from genealogy, come with me. girls 
and boys, into the Heralds' College, in London. 
We will take the Washington arms with us and 
make a short study of heraldry. You know what 
heraldry is, I suppose. It is the art of blazoning 
or describing in proper terms crests, arms, and 
armorial bearings. It is full of odd and curious 
terms which, to anyone not versed in the mysteries 




A.O. 1540. 

of the art, seem but a strange jargon. Representa- 
tions of arms and crests can not, of course, be always 
given in colors, and in the study of heraldry, there- 
fore, colors are denoted by the lines of shading. 
Thus perpendicular lines denote red ; horizontal, 
blue ; diagonal, green and purple ; and these col- 
ors are thus designated : red is gules ; white is 
argent ; blue is azure j black is sable j green is 
vert, and purple is purpure. Gold is or, and silver 
is argent. An object given in its natural color is 
called proper. Cl/ief is from caput, the head, and 
indicates the head or upper part of the shield, cov- 
ering one-third of it and set off by a horizontal line. 
The mullet is the small star-shaped wheel or rowel 
of a spur and, in heraldry, indicates a third son. 
Now, with this short studv as a guide, see whether 




you can translate the description of the arms and 
crest of the Washington family as I obtained them 
from the Heralds' College in London. Remember 
that arms and crest are by no means the same 
thing. Arms means the shield itself — protection 
in battle ; crest is the ornament that surmounts 
the shield. 


Arms: argent; two bars gules ; in chief, three 

mullets of the second. 
CREST : a raven with wings indorsed proper ; 

issuant from a ducal coronet or. 

1 obtained a drawing of the armorial bearings 
of the Washingtons — a fac-simile of the illumina- 
tion that has stood fur centuries in the old and 
time-worn book I studied so carefully in the 
Heralds' College. And here it is. 

The bars on the shield, you see, are in perpen- 
dicular shading, signifying red and white stripes, 
and the mystery as to the origin of the star-span- 
gled banner be- came, now, very 
plain to me. j^nfiH^k. Tlle n '' : ' 5 P ran g 
from the armo- THffiHSiSSfflk rial bearings of 
General Wash- i^^ffi^k ington. The 
Archaeological fe? leaSlm. Society of 



arms. argent, two bars gules, in chief three 
mullets of the second. 

crest: a raven with wings indorseb proper, 
issuing out of a ducal coronet or. 

England, the highest authority in the world on 
ancient church and heraldic matters, seems to in- 
dorse my opinion, for it has said that " in the red 
and white bars, and the stars of his shield, and the 
eagle issuant from his crest, borne later by General 

Washington, the framers of the Constitution got 
their idea of the stars and stripes and the spread 
eagle of the national emblem " — only an advance 
upon the bars gules, the three mullets, and the 
raven of the old shield of the Washingtons of 
Sulgrave Manor. 

Blue seems to have been added to the flag be- 
cause blue is the J^L true companion 
colorofred. Coats- j|5Si|^ of-arms have mot- 
toes, and Washing- MmS* ''...-: ; ' : '•"')' 
appropriate. -«>j1px5sShS>' ^ ' 5 a sentence 
from the Vpl^llSir Latin poet 



Ovid: " Exitus acta probat," which, freely trans- 
lated, means "Actions are tested by their results." 
These arms were on his carriage panels, his book- 
marks, and his watch-seals. 

Admiral Preble, of the United States navy, who 
wrote a very interesting work on " Our Flag," says, 
in regard to Washington's crest and arms : " The 
American patriot was fond of genealogies, and 
corresponded with English heralds on the subject 
of his pedigree. Yes ! this George Washington, 
who gave sanction, if not birth, to that most demo- 
cratic of sentiments, 'all men are born free 

and equal,' — was, as the phrase goes, a gentleman 
of blood, of court armor, and ancient lineage. 
When the Americans, in their most righteous 
revolt against the tyranny of the mother country, 
cast about for an ensign with which to distinguish 
themselves from their English oppressors, what 
did they ultimately adopt ? Why, nothing more 
than a gentleman's badge — a modification of the 
old English coat-of-arms borne by their leader 
and deliverer. A few stars and stripes had, in the 
old times, distinguished his ancestors ; more stars 
and additional stripes were added, denoting the 
number of States that joined in the struggle, and 
this now became the standard round which the 
patriots so successfully rallied. It is not a little 
strange that this ' worn-out rag of feudalism,' as 



so many would call it, should have expanded into 
that bright and ample banner that now waves on 
every sea." 

So much for the flag ; but ere I close, I wish to 
mention another matter that may be found of 



interest. The stars on the flag are five-rayed, 
that is, having five points. The stars on the 
coins of the United States have six points. Did 
you ever notice this ? 
I doubt whether one 
American in a thou- 
sand ever remarked 
it. Look at any coin 
in your pocket. The 
stars are all six-rayed. 
Now, notice the 
stars on the flag. 
After my study 
of the Washington 
arms, I felt confi- 
dent that, if I could 
obtain a coin of 
Washington's day, 
I should find that 
the stars corre- 
sponded with 
those on the 
flag. Afterlong 
search, I finally 
found what I 
wished in a col- 
lection of coins belonging to an English friend — 
a fine specimen of a copper cent of 1791, showing 
a beautiful profile of Washington on one side, and 
on the reverse the eagle and the stars — ail with' 
Jive points. This confirmed my opinion. I joy- 
fully pocketed the coin, with my friend's permis- 
sion, of course, and when in America compared it 
with others in the Treasury Department at Wash- 
ington. In every case I found that the coins of 
Washington's day have five-rayed stars. So the 
stars on the early coinage and the stars on the 
early flag of the young republic are but an adap- 
tation of the "three mullets" of the old Washing- 



ton arms. The five-rayed stars on the coins died 
with the great President, for I find that the coin- 
age of the next Presidential term, and all biued 
since, have six-rayed stars. Here is a historical puz- 
zle. Who can explain the reason for. the change? 

This, girls and boys, is my story of your flag. 
The stars and stripes of the armorial bearings of 
old Laurence Washington, the worshipful mayor 
of Northampton three hundred years ago, as they 
appear on the brasses of Sulgrave Church and 
above the porch of the old manor-house, were the 
"heraldic insignia of the old English ancestry 
which is traced back almost to the days of Col- 
umbus," and these re-appear in the arms and 
crest of General George Washington of Virginia, 
first President of the Llnited States of America, 
and sixth in descent from the first Laurence Wash- 
ington of Sulgrave. The stars and stripes of 
the flag of the Union had their origin in the 
armorial bearings of the Washington family — a 
compliment from his fellow-citizens to the man 
whom they hailed as leader and deliverer, "first 
in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his 
countrymen." No written records exist to prove 
this, but the fact was well known at the time, and 
Washington's old friend, Mrs. Ross, an upholster- 
ess of Arch street, Philadelphia, was intrusted by 
a committee of Congress, in June, 1776, to work 
these emblems into a flag, from designs drawn by 
Washington himself in the l'ttle back parlor of 
the Arch-street house. 

So the Star Spangled Banner dates back almost 
to the days of knights and crusaders, and, as the 
English author of an interesting book on "the 
Washingtons" says (when speaking of doughty Sir 
John Washington, the King's man of the old 
Roundhead days, who left his Yorkshire fells for a 
new home beyond the sea) : "On he rode to carry 
across the Atlantic a name which his great-grand- 
son should raise to the loftiest heights of earthly 
glery, and a coat-of-arms which, transformed into 


the flag of a mighty nation, should float over every 
sea as far and as proudly as the blended crosses 
of St. Andrew, St. Patrick, and St. George." 

72 FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK. [November, 


By Emma Gilbert. 

Lit-tle Wil-lie Jack-son and his sis.-ter Ro-sa lived in a pret-ty lit-tle 
house in the coun-try. Wil-lie had six toys and Ro-sa had four dolls. 
And Wil-lie had a lit-tle toy-bank, too, that his pa-pa had given him ; 
and his un-cle gave him ev-er so many pen-nies and some silver, to put 
in the bank. 

Wil-lie and Ro-sa lived close by a riv-er. And they had fine times 
play-ing a-long the shore, throw-ing in sticks and stones, and sail-ing 
lit-tle bits of board and pieces of bark which they called boats. Wil-lie 
was six years old and Ro-sa was eight. The riv-er was not deep near 
their home, and they played near it all they chose, and they oft- en put 
a lot of" small sticks on the bark boats and played that the sticks were 
boys and girls go-ing tor a ride on the wa-ter. 

One day, Ro-sa was gone from home, and Wil-lie played a-lone. 
Aft-er send-ing off some boats load-ed with lit-tle sticks, he wished for 
some- thing to sail that looked more like real peo-ple, and he went 
sly-ly in-to the house and got Ro-sa's four dolls, Maud, Fan-ny, Grace, 
and Pol-ly, and set them all on a large piece of board and pushed them 
off in-to the mid-cle of the riv-er with a long stick. He played that Maud, 
who was the larg-est, was the mam- ma of the oth-ers, and that they were 
go-ing to the end of the world. They fioat-ed a-long in fine style, and 
Wil-lie fol-lowed them a-long the shore, great-ly pleased to see them sail, 
un-til they got so far a-way that he could hard-ly see them when he 
went home, and the four dolls were left a-lone on the riv-er to sail as far 
as they liked. 

Now, Ro-sa had gone to see a lit-tle girl named Hel-en, who lived 
far-ther down the riv-er, and as the dolls sailed a-long, the girls were 
at play on the shore throw-ing sticks in-to the wa-ter. For when-ev-er 
they threw a stick in-to the riv-er, Hel-en's big black dog would then 
swim out and bring the stick back in his mouth. 

All at once, Hel-en cried out, "What is that com-ing down the 
riv er ? " and as the boat came near-er, Ro-sa looked and looked, and 
soon she saw that her own dolls were up-on it, and she be-gan to cry 
for fear they would all be drowned. 

Hel-en said, " Per-haps Trip will bring them in. There, Trip ! There, 

i88 3 .] 



Trip!" and pointed to them; but Trip on-ly looked and wagged his tail. 
He would not go in -to the wa-ter un-less some-thing was thrown for 
him to go in aft-er; and when Hel-en threw a stick, he swam out and 
got it and let the dolls sail a-long. 

" He does n't know what we want," said Hel-en. " I will run and tell 
Mam-ma: may-be she can get them out." But be-fore she got to the house 
the board ran a-gainst a rock, and all the dolls tipped in-to the wa-ter; 
and when Hel-en's mam-ma came, the emp-ty board was float-ing far 
a-way down the riv-er. 

Then Ro-sa went home ver-y sad, and Hel-en cried a lit-tle, too. 

When Wil-lie's mam-ma knew what he had done, she said he must 
o-pen his lit-tle bank and give all the pen-nies and sil-ver his un-cle had 


giv-en him to Ro-sa, to buy her an-oth-er doll like La-dy Maud ; and 
Hel-en's mam-ma and Ro-sa's aunt brought her some more, and Wil-lie 
nev-er sent Ro-sa's dolls to sail a-gain. 

But when Wil-lie grew to be a big boy, he had a real boat with 
seats in it, and he oft-en took Ro-sa and Hel-en in his boat on the 
blue wa-ter. They were care-ful not to tip out, as the poor dolls did. 

He could not think what had made him act so bad-ly to the dolls. But 
it must have been be-cause he was such a ver-v lit-tle bov in those davs. 





It may interest you, dear friends, young and 
otherwise, to know that the first of November is 
your Jack's birthday. Yes, with this month I 
enter upon the eleventh volume of my existence, 
so to speak, and a very happy one it promises to 
be, thanks to your faithful attendance, the state of 
things in general, and the success of ST. NICHOLAS 
in particular. 

Now that I think on it, to be in the eleventh vol- 
ume of one's age is about as grand a thing as 
a Jack-in-the-Pulpit of this latitude can desire — 
an unusual thing, too, though that 's neither here 
nor there in this case. Our family are mostly very 
sensitive to cold weather; but a St. NICHOLAS 
Jack-in-the-Pulpit is quite another thing. The 
love of boys and girls should make even a mush- 
room as strong and hardy as an oak. 

After all, every one of us, my chicks, begins a 
fresh volume once a year — so here 's to all our 
birthdays! May they be happy and honored — 
full of pleasant memories and joyful promises, 
and a hearty determination to go ahead ! 


Dear Jack-in-the-Pulpit : I think I can answer the question 
asked by Lulu Clarke and Nellie Caldwell in the August St. Nich- 
olas, saying that they have seen stars fall and wish to know if they 
really do fall and what becomes of them afterward, where do they go 
to, and do they ever.shine again ? Answer: A falling star is caused 
by a piece of star or planet falling down toward the earth. We 
know that when you get a certain distance from the earth the air 
becomes different from what it is around us here; thus the piece of 
planet or star falling downward from above, where the air is different, 
strikes the current of air around the earth, when it becomes warmed 
by the friction of falling through the air and shines like a star, and 
this is the cause of what we call a falling star. This is what I have 
been told, and I believe it. What becomes of them afterward and 
where they go, I guess nobody knows ; and as they are not stars, 
they never shine again. Your fond admirer, 

Lenox, Mass. _ Johnnv. 

You are shown Johnny's letter, ray friends, just 
as he wrote it (excepting that the dear Little School- 

ma'am scratched out the rest of his name). Does 
he clear up the matter much ? I fear not. You 
see, it is such a very hard subject. Well, here is 
a letter from a Washington boy : 

Washington, D. C, August 17, 1883. 

Dear Mr. Jack-in-the-Pi lpit : If you will let me answer Lulu 
Clarke's and Nellie Caldwell's questions about "Shooting-stars," 
in the August St. Nicholas, I will ask all those who have access 
to an encyclopedia or book on astronomy to look under the subjects 
"meteors " and "aerolites," as both are commonly called " shooting- 
stars." In the encyclopedia or book on astronomy will be found 
much more information than you would allow me space to give. I 
would like to say for those who can not see an encyclopedia or book 
on astronomy that the scientific men have decided that there is a 
stream of meteors or shooting-s'ars going around the sun all the 
time, after the manner of the going around of the earth and the 
other planets; but this stream forms a different ring, or "orbit," as 
they call it, from that of the earth, so that the two orbits or rings 
made by the earth and the stream of meteors cross every year about 
August or November, when we can see more shooting-stars than at 
other times. Now, when the earth passes through the stream of 
meteors as the rings of the two meet, the meteors pass through the 
air which is around the earth ; some even fall to the earth, and be- 
cause they move so fast through the air they begin to burn from 
friction. Friction, you know, is caused by the rubbing of two 
bodies together, and causes heat, as when we scratch a match to 
light it. How wonderful it is that, as light and thin as air is, there 
is enough friction between the air and meteors to make them light 
and burn. Meteors are found to be made mostly of iron. . Some 
persons have collections of them. There are also some at the 
Smithsonian Institution in this city. 

I believe I have answered all the questions Lulu and Nellie asked, 
and I hope, dear Jack, you will pardon me if my letter seems long, 
but I could n't see how I could make it shorter and make it plain. 
Yours, etc., G. M. F. 

Fred. H. \V., of Michigan City, Indiana, writes 
that "these meteors, when rushing through the 
air, go with such velocity that they are ignited by 
friction and are consumed." — Jesse A , of De- 
troit, Mich., says: " In answer to Miss L. Clarke, 
in .the August number, I think that the stars do 
not fall. It looks as if they did, but what really 
falls is a stone. These are called meteorites. 
According to Miss Yonge, one of these which fell 
in the fifteenth century was four feet long and 
weighed 215 pounds. They are very numerous, 
and sometimes set houses afire." 

Elise VanW. asks : "What makes these pieces 
break off and go rushing through the air ? and what 
do they break off of, anyway *" and a number of cor- 
respondents tell your Jack that at the Smithsonian 
Institute, in Washington, there are specimens of 
meteoric stones or aerolites — real specimens — that 
have been found on the ground after a meteoric 
shower, and that have fallen right out of the sky. 
The dear Little School-ma'am and Deacon Green 
have seen some of these very specimens at the 
Smithsonian Institute, and they tell me the stories 
about them are perfectly true. Big stones some of 
'em are, too. I hope I shall never be honored by 
having any extra fine specimens rained upon my 

Many other letters on this subject have come 
from my boys and girls ; but as I can not show them 
alltoyou,'I must be content with thanking Ella 
B. C, Frank H. Stephens, Jr., " Barebones," 
F. C. L., Mary and Henry L., Edwin B. S., Red- 
school-house boy, and Willis F , whose letters 

the Little School-ma'am says are very creditable. 

The fact is, "Shooting-stars" are rather heavy 
and risky things for a Jack-in-the-Pulpit to handle ; 
but so long as my chicks are pecking at it, I am 

.88 3 .) 



content. They '11 be sure to find out something be- 
fore they get through — bless their busy noddles ! 


But all the shooting-stars do not come from the 
great sea of air and the greater sea of nothing in 
particular that is said to surround our earth. Hear 
this letter from a California girl : 

Pasadena, California, July 30, 1883. 

Dear Jack : In the August number, in the reports Irom chapters 
of the Agassiz Association, I noticed a picture of one of our Cali- 
fornia wild flowers. The " shooting-stars," as we call them, grow 
in our fields in great abundance. They are a pale lavender color, or 
sometimes a pinkish tint. 

These little flowers grow in clusters, as large as your hand, upon 
a single stem ; the flowers are very drooping and sometimes quite- 
large ; they are also very fragrant. So we consider them as one of 
the most beautiful and sweet of all our wild flowers. 

Yours truly, " S. S." 


My friend the woodcock has an excellent wife, 
and an excellent mother — that is, an excellent 
mother to his children. He may have had an ex- 
cellent mother himself; probably he did, for of all 
birds the woodcock mother 
is the kindest and most 
affectionate to her' 
little ones. But 
what I wish 
to state, 

ind so holds them 
the baby in her 

1 con- Ngilfep 
fess that, 
like Brother 
Boreas, I 'm a 
little long-winded 
this time, is that the 
offspring of my friend Wood- 
cock actually are carried about by their mother 
when they are too young to escape from danger 
unaided. She does not carry them by her bill (no, 
even the cat-bird would not attempt that), but she 

closes her little feet upon them 
as safely as your mother holds 
careful arms. 

In numbers of cases hunters have seen the 
great-eyed birds rise and fly away heavily and low, 
seemingly holding something between their feet. 
Mr. C. F. Holder, one of the St. Nicholas 
writers, tells me that a Western sportsman recently 
had curiosity enough to follow such a bird, and a 
good chase she led him, through a hay-field, over 
brambles, bushes, and stones, but he finally gained 
upon her. and saw that in her feet she carried a 
tiny downy woodcock that seemed not the least 
alarmed by such a strange mode of traveling. 
The old bird carried it several hundred yards, 
before alighting with it ; and then quickly disap- 
peared in the tall thick grass. 

My little Mrs. Woodcock is the proudest mother 
I ever knew. She thinks her children are perfec- 
tion. To me they seem to have rather large 
mouths, but she scouts the idea of that being 
anything against their beauty. To her way of 
thinking, a large mouth gives an openness of ex- 
pression to the young that is simply charming. Ah, 
Woodcock is a happy fellow ! 


Dear Jack-in-the-Pulpit : I read such a queer 
true story in our paper to-day, that I want to 
tell it to you and all the girls and boys. The 
paper said that a Rhode Island gentleman 
latelv look his pet dog (named Pat) to 
Providence, which, you know, is one 
of the capitals of Rhode Island. Well, 
somehow-, he and Pat became sepa- 
rated and could not find each olher 
it all. Well, what did that dog 
do but go to a certain telephone 
office, whither he had often gone 
with his master. He whined 
so dismally that the operator, 
understanding the case, tele- 
phoned to a store where he 
thought the dog's owner 
might be ; and finding him 
there, asked him to speak 
to Pat by the telephone. 
The master did so. The 
operator held the instrument 
to Pat's ear, and the dog 
gave a joyful bark at the 
sound of his master's voice. 
Then, the paper says, Pat 
was let out and darted off to 
find him, as though he knew 
exactly where to go ; but it 
does not tell any more. I wish 
I could say, for certain, that 
Pat found his master; but I 
really think he did, because the 
sound of his voice gave the poor 
dog courage, you see, and, with 
courage to help him, I think he must 
certainly have succeeded. 
Your true young friend, Jenny S. 


Deacon Green requests me lo : 


he announcement of his SPLENDID OFFER, 
as / call it, is unavoidably postponed to the 
December number of St. Nicholas. 

7 6 




Carpentersville, III., 1883. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I do not have much time to read, but 
always take time to read your interesting stories. 

I am in an office from eight a. m. until five or six p. m. every day; 
and when I am at home I have other duties besides reading. My 
work is taking down in short-hand, from dictation, the business let- 
ters of the firm, and then printing them on a type-writer. I have 
other work also, putting up the mail, sending off circulars, indexing 
books, etc. 

I began studying short-hand in February last, and was six- 
teen years old in July. Am now supporting myself, and intend to 
keep on doing so. Josephine B. 

Josephine B.'s welcome letter is but one out of many which we 
have received from boys and girls who are already supporting them- 
selves or who are intending soon to begin the battle of life in earnest. 
And it is very gratifying to us to know that all of these budding men 
and women who have been reading St. Nicholas refuse to outgrow 
the magazine, as they outgrow their juvenile toys and pleasures, 
and that they find it as interesting and helpful a companion on their 
return from office-desk or counter as when, in past times, they 
rushed home from school to greet it. 

Milwaukee, Wis. 
Dear St. Nicholas: Will you please tell me how an oil paint- 
ing should be cleaned, when dusty and fly-stained ''. 1 have tried 
several methods, but have not succeeded in finding one that will 
not injure the painting. Agnes L. 

An experienced dealer in oil-paintings sends us this answer to 
Agnes L. 's query: Take a quart of lukewarm water, and into it put 
ten drops of ammonia. With this water and a soft sponge clean the 
painting very carefully, and wipe it dry with a piece of chamois or 
soft silk. 

The "Ship in the Moon" Again. 

Nr. Caernarvon, N. Wales, September 3, 1883. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I was much interested in an article en- 
titled " The Ship in the Moon," in the September number of your 
magazine, more especially as, a short time ago, I saw something 
rather similar to the curious sight described by S. T. R. We are^ 
staying two miles from Caernarvon, North Wales, and have a splen- 
did view from our house over the Menai Straits, and also over the 
sea, where the sun sets. We have some beautiful sunsets here, over 
the water, and about ten days ago, when we were watching one, 
just as the sun was looking like a bright ball on the horizon, a dis- 
tant ship crossed slowly in front of it, looking quite black against 
the golden orb. We all thought it rather a remarkable thing to see, 
for it was an occurrence quite new to us. 1 was, therefore, rather 
astonished when I saw in the next St. Nicholas S. T. R.'s article, 
relating a somewhat similar coincidence. Yours truly, J. E. C. 

Dear St. Nicholas: Once at Eastbourne, England, in 1870, 
we had the rare experience mentioned by S. T. R. in the current 
number of St. Nicholas, only instead of a ship in the moon we 
saw an ocean steamer; and until seeing the article have never met 
with any one who had seen this unique and picturesque sight 

W. L. 

Dear St. Nicholas : This summer we were at Maplewood, 
N. H., and a gentleman tuld father, that from the hotel piazza there 
he had seen the moon rise behind Mt. Washington, bringing out the 
Tip Top House in strong relief. A sight, to be sure, somewhat differ- 
ent from that witnessed by S. T. R., but quite as rare. E. C. 

Stonington, 1SS3. 
Dear St. Nicholas: 1 am going to tell you a little about our 
town of Stonington. When the war was going on between the 
British and the Americans, the British tried to capture our town on 
a certain morning — 1 forget the date. The British took us by sur- 
prise, and therefore we were not ready for the fight ; but as all the 
people were pretty brave, we rose up in a multitude, at least as manv 
as there were in the town. We had two cannons, and yet we were 
all so brave as to hold out till reinforcements came to our aid, and 
thus we won the battle, on the 10th of August, 1816. We have 
those two cannons yet, in the center of the town in a little square, 
and four bnmb-shells that did not gooff. Now I must say good-bye. 
Hoping that this will be published, I remain yours, 

C. Palmer, Jr. 

Washington, D. C, August, 1883. 
Dear St. Nicholas : In reading one of the old volumes of St. 
Nicholas, I came across a story of a black-and-tan dog, which 
told of the numerous tricks that he could do, and I wish some of 
the little folks of the St. Nicholas who have been successful in 
training dogs could tell me how to teach my little black-and-tan. 
He can already sit upon his haunches, waltz, and speak for things. 
Please print this, and oblige your true reader, Aunt Emily. 

Now, boys and girls whose pets under your careful tuition have 
graduated in tricks — who of you will best answer Aunt Emily's 
question ''. 

Rome, Ga. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I like your Letter-box so much. The 
letters are so interesting. 1 often wonder how old the subscribers 
are, and try to guess from their letters. I composed a little piece of 
poetry, which I am going to ask you to publish if you can find a 
spare corner. I expect you are bothered by other such people as I, 
but I hope my epistle will not share the fate of some others. If you 
will publish my piece, you will oblige your little friend, 

"Tommie H. 

Little Beginnings with Great Endings. 

See! a little brooklet is traveling through a field of clover- 
It is on as though a child at play, 
Turning the little pebbles over and over. 
In its happy and joyous way. 

On and on it travels through miles and acres of land, 
Carrying with it as it goes everything that comes on hand. 
Such as pebbles, weeds, and sand, 
As it begins to expand. 

Lo ! what do we see ? 

A river ! Yes, a river traveling on to sea. 

'Tis the same little brooklet that through the field was flowing, 

We did not think that it was to the great ocean going. 

'Tis thus with you. my little friend. 

When a little baby in your cradle laid low. 

We could not picture for you 

Into a fine and noble woman to grow. 

Scales, Sierra Co., Cal. . 
Dear St. Nicholas : I can not find words to express the 
pleasure I felt when I received a letter with a recent number of 
your dear magazine, from my aunt.who lives in Oakland, California, 
saying that she had subscribed to it for us as a present There 
are eight of us, four boys and four girls. You can imagine what 
a commotion there is in our house when it arrives, for the little 
ones want to see the pictures, and the large ones to see the pictures 
and read the stories. My father is a miner, and we live in the 
Sierra mountains. In the winter the snow is from ten to thirteen 
feet deep, and we travel on snow-shoes, or skees, just like those 
you described in the February number. We have fine sport sliding 
down hill. But last winter was an exception, for we had only thirty 
inches of snow at one time. 

From your ardent reader, Mattie B. Westall. 

Philadelphia, July 15, 1883. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I was very much interested in Mr. Ice- 
land's article on " Brass Work," in the July number, as I know him 
and have been to the school he speaks of. I have never beaten 
brass, but have seen it done, and I do not think it looks very 
difficult. I take lessons in modeling, and I find it very interesting, 
and am extremely fond of it It is not difficult to model, and I 
think any one could do it. My sister, who is nine years old, takes 
lessons in modeling at the school Mr. Leland mentions, and models 
very nicely. I also take lessons in painting and in designing from 
Mr. Leland. I do not go to the same school with my sister, but to 
the Art Club, of which Mr. Leland is also the founder. I am sure 
the readers of St. Nicholas will like the article on " Modeling," 
and find it very interesting. 

I hope you will print this letter, as it is my first 

Your constant reader, H. Robins. 

Hosts of readers, we are sure, will welcome Mr. Leland's article 
on " Modeling," and the kindred articles that he is to contribute. 

.88 3 .J 




The Agassiz Association, as made known through St. Nicho- 
las, is three years old this month. The number of members as 
recorded a year ago was 3816, and we then remarked that the mem- 
bership had doubled within the year. The latest number on our reg- 
ister is 5970, which shows a still larger increase for the closing year. 

As St. Nicholas greets a large number of new friends at the 
opening of the new volume, we will give a brief review of the or- 
ganization, purposes, and methods of the A. A. 

The association originated at Lenox, Mass., and its head-quarters 
are still in Lenox Academy. Here are kept our register, with its 
nearly six thousand names: our album, containing the faces of many 
of our members; our cabinet of some thousands of specimens, con- 
tributed by near and distant friends, and the file of letters, pre- 
serving the cream of a three years' correspondence. Grouped around 
this center are now 525 branch societies, or chapters, representing 
nearly every State and Territory, and also England, Ireland, Scot- 
land, France, Canada, and South America. Each of these chapters 
is required to send a report of its doings to the President at the 
beginning of every other month. There is no charge for the admis- 
sion of a chapter, and there are no dues, either yearly or monthly. 
The smallest number that can be recognized as a chapter is four. 

In cases where four can not be found to unite as a chapter, indi- 
viduals are admitted on the payment of a nominal entrance fee. 

The purposes of the A. A. are thus briefly stated in Article 2 of 
the Constitution: 

"It shall be the object of this Association to collect, study, and 
preserve natural objects and facts." 

Our methods are as simple as possible. Natural objects must be 
studied from actual specimens. Rocks must be broken; flowers 
gathered, and studied as they grow ; animals watched as they live 
freely in their own homes. Each member of the A. A. is encour- 
aged to begin right at home; to collect the flowers, minerals, or 
'insects of his own town ; to learn to determine their names by his 
own study. Knowing .well, however, the difficulties which beset 
the entrance of the young naturalist's path, we have considered how 
we may render him the assistance he most needs at the outset. 
We have prepared a list of the best books in each department of 
science, so that he may know what tools to work with ; and best 
of all, a number of eminent scientists have most generously offered 
their services to aid in the classification and determination of speci- 
mens. So that now if a bright boy wishes to learn something about 
butterflies, or birds' eggs, or minerals, he can begin by picking up 
whatever he can find. Our hand-book tells him where to look for 
them, how to preserve and mount them, and what books to get to 
find out about their habits and names. Then, if he gets puzzled by 
some strange specimen, he has the privilege, at no expense, of ad- 
dressing some gentleman "who knows all about it," and who will 
promptly answer any questions he may ask. 

Further than this, we have begun to organize summer classes by 
correspondence, — also entirely free, — and we award certificates to 
all who satisfactorily complete the various courses of observation. 

The names of the gentlemen who have so kindly volunteered 
their services in the several departments have been given from 
month to month in St. Nicholas, but for the information of our 
new readers, and for the convenience of all, we herewith give a com- 
plete and classified list of them : 


I. N. E. States and Canada Prof. C. H. K. Sanderson, 

Greenfield, Mass. 

II. Middle States. , Dr. Charles Atwood, 

Moravia, N. Y. 

III. Southern States Dr. Chapman, 

Apalachicola, Fla. 
IV. Western States to Colorado Dr. Aug. F. Foerste 

(puff-balls a specialty), Dayton, O. 

V. Far West and North-west Dr. Marcus L. Jones, 

Denver, Col. 
VI. Prof. W. R. Dudley (ferns, sedges, and grasses specially), 

Ithacaf N. Y. 

VII. Middle Suites Prof. Edw. L. French, 

Wells College, Aurora, N. Y. 
VIII. Mr. Wm. H. Briggs, Columbia, Cal. 


I. Prof. Bruce Richards, 1726 N. i8thst., Philadelphia, Pa. 
II. Mr, Thomas Morgan, Somerville, N. J. 

III. Mr. H. A. Pilsbey, Davenport, Iowa. 

IV. Prof. G. Howard Parker, Academy of Sciences, icjth and 

Racests., Philadelphia, Pa. 
V. Mr. Harry E. Dore, 521 Clay St., San Francisco, Cal. 

(Pacific Molluscs. ) 


I. Prof. G. Howard Parker (address above). 
II. Prof. C. H. Fernald, State College, Orono, Me. (Lept- 

III. Mr. H. L. Fernald, Orono, Me. (Hemiptcra.) 

IV. Prof. Leland O. Howard, Dept. Agriculture, Entomological 

Div. , Washington, D. C. 
V. Prof. H. Atwood, office Germania Life Ins. Co., Rochester, 
N. Y. (Parasites and microscopic infusoria.) 
VI." Dr. Aug. F. Foerste, Dayton, O. (Spiders.) 






Wm. H. Briggs, Columbia, Cal. 

Mr. Jas. C. Lathrop, 134 Park Ave., Bridgeport, Conn. 

Mr. W. R. Lighton, Ottumwa, Iowa. 

Prof. Wm. M. Bowron, South Pittsburg, Tenn. 


I. Prof. Wm. M. Bowron (address above). 

II. Mr. Jas. C. Lathrop (address above). 

III. Prof. F. W. Staebner, Westfield, Mass. 

IV. Mr. Chas. B. Wilson, Colby University, Waterville, Me. 

(Minerals of Maine.') 
V. Mr. David Allan, box 113, Webster Groves, Missouri. 

I. Mr. James De B. Abbott, Germantown, Pa. 


I. Prof. C. F. Holder, American Museum Nat. Hist., Central 
Park, N. Y., 77th st. and Eighth ave. (Marine life. ) 
II. Dr. Aug. Foerste, Dayton, O. (Mammals). 

All questions relating to the identification of specimens are to be 
sent to these gentlemen, and those who avail themselves of this 
privilege must be members of the A. A., and must carefully observe 
the following rules : 

1st. Never write for assistance, until you have tried your best to 
succeed without it; that is, do not ask lazy questions. 

2d. Always inclose sufficient postage for the return of your speci- 
mens, and also an envelope, with a two-cent stamp, addressed to 

Having now outlined the history, purposes, and methods of the 
A. A., the question arises, 

Who Can Join It? 

We have no limitations of age, wealth, or rank. All who are 
interest. d in studying nature arc welcome. We have members four 
years old, and members seventy years old, and cf all ages interme- 
diate. Some of our chapters arc composed mainly of adults, and, 
as in the case of our Montreal chapter, bid fair to take a strong 
stand among the scientific organizations of the country. Others are 
made up mainly of children, who study and observe in their own 
wuy — not probing so deeply into scientific problems, but finding 
many very interesting specimens and facts, and often puzzling their 
older friends with their eager questions. 

Some of our branches are "family chapters," consisting of father, 
mother, and the little ones, all working together, and holding meet- 
ings regularly in library or drawing-room. They constitute one of 
the jffeasantest features of the association. Perhaps as common as 
any are school or college chapters, sometimes under the guidance of 
teacher or professor, sometimes not. By means of such societies, 
the study of natural history has been introduced profitably into 
many public schools. A live teacher will be able to accomplish 
unknown good by organizing and conducting such a chapter. 

The Hand-Book. 

Of course, in the actual working of our association, hundreds of 
questions arise, concerning which the beginner desires information. 
How shall I organize a society? How ought the meetings to be 
conducted ? How shall I awaken and keep alive the interest of 
others ? What plan of work shall I follow ? How shall I build 
a cabinet ? How shall I collect and arrange my various specimens ? 
What books shall I read ? How about a badge? Etc., etc. 

At first, we undertook to reply to all these questions by letter. 
but the task soon became an impossibility. Then, for a time, we 




resorted to circulars; but finally the range of inquiry broadened so 
rapidly, and the number of inquirers increased so fast, that we were 
obliged to issue a little volume called " The Hand-book of the 
St. Nicholas Agassiz Association." In this we endeavored to 
put answers to every possible question regarding the society, and 
the book has now come to be indispensable to every wide-awake 
member of the A. A. The first step, therefore, to be taken, if one 
wishes to form a "chapter," or to join the A. A. as an individual 
member, is to send for a copy of the hand-book. The price is fifty 
cents, and all orders should be sent to the President. 

We should prefer writing personal letters to all of our kind friends, 
as a printed circular is apt to seem formal and cold; but with six 
thousand members this evidently can not often be done. 

All who have not already done so are invited to send their photo- 
graphs, and particularly group photographs of their chapters. 

Moke Help Needed. 

While, as seen above, we have a goodly array of scientific gentle- 
men ready to assist us, there is ample room for many more; particu- 
larly in more restricted subdivisions of the various branches: such 
as the " logies " of beetles, dragon-flies, birds' eggs, trees, etc., etc. 

But now, to proceed with our regular work, the subject for Pro- 
fessor Parker's Entomological class for November is Coleoptera. 

The work on Lepidoptera has been satisfactorily completed, and 
ten members have passed the examination We regret that the 
number pursuing the course is so small ; but the success of these will 
doubtless stimulate others to join the class. 

The best essay was 

i. On Dryocaiupa pdlucida, by Bashford Dean, Tarrytown-on- 
Hudson, N. Y. 

Then follow 

2. On Sphinx quinqnemacuhita, by Fred. Clearwater, Brazil, Ind. 

3. On Telea polyp hemuS) by Helen Montgomery, Saco, Me. 

4. On Attacus poiyphemns, by G. J. Grider, Bethlehem, Pa. 

5. On Platysamia cecrcpia, Linn., by Daisy G. Dame, West 

Medford, Mass. 

6. On Platysamia cccropia, Linn., by Isabel G. Dame, West 

Medford, Mass. 

7. On Dryocampa sanatoria, by Elizabeth Marquand, Newbury- 

port, Mass. 

8. On Papilla inrmis, Linn., by A. H. Stewart, Washington, D.C. 

9. On Colias philodice, by Arthur Stone, Boston, Mass. 

10. On General Lepidoptera, by Rachel H. Mellon, Pittsburgh, Pa. 

Professor Parker writes, " I think all have earned their diplomas, 
so far, and that the essays reflect great credit on the association." 
Papers for November should be prepared and sent to Professor 
Parker, as explained in detail in St. Nicholas for Jl ! lv. Any who 
have hitherto been prevented from joining the class may enter now 
and continue with the others; and on completing the course shall 
receive certificates of the actual work accomplished. 

The Botanical section will now take up Flowers, and specimens, 
or better, drawings should be arranged according to the following 
scheme, and sent to Dr. Jones, as explained in July: 


on stem). 
Definite : 

Indefinite .' 
' panicle, 

Kinds of Flowers. 



Parts of Flowers. 

a. Calyx, 

b. Corolla, 

c. Stamens, 

d. Pistils, 

e. Receptacle. 
a. Calyx, 

Ordinary forms : 
shapes (see corolla), 
teeth, lobes, -etc. (sec 
polysepalous (sepals 
not united), 
shapes (see leaf). 
Special forms : 

fruits (apples, etc. 
cups, etc., 

petal-like, etc., 
b. Corolla. 

Monopetalous (parts unitedl : 

shapes (see blade 
of leaf), 
wheel -shaped, 










Polypetalous (parts sepa- 
rate) : 

shapes (see blade of 

special forms 

of Leguminosae, 

of Dicentra, 

of Columbine, 


on the receptacle, 

. ovary, 
aestivation (arrangement 
in the bud), 









etc % . 
c. Stamens. 

on receptacle, 


style (apparently), 

Free (from each other). 
United by filaments, 
United by anthers. 




shapes (see stems and 
etc. (see leaves and 

attachment to fila- 

dehiscence, (mode 
of opening), 
by slits, 

shapes (see leaves 

and stems), 
etc., etc., 

to the plants, 
other animals. 

New Chapters. 



Iowa City, Iowa 
Rogers Park, 111.', (A). 
Dighton, Mass., (A)... 

Trenton, N. J., (C) 

Bergen Pt., N. J., (A). 
Lawrence, Kan., (A).. 
Baltimore, Md., (G). .. 

New York, N. Y., (O). 

No. of Members. Address. 

(A).... 4..W. M. Clute. 
. 4. .C. B. Coxe. 
18.. W. A. Reade. 
12.. Herbert Westwood. 
5 . . Miss Alida Conover. 
5.. Fred. H. Bowersock. 
4..E. B. Stockton, 179 McCullogh 

6..R. A. Linden. 207 E. i22dst. 

Bridgeport, Conn*. 
H. H. Ballard — Dear Sir; I would be very glad to assist any 
of your A. A. in geology, mineralogy, or microscopy. Having seen 
the ill effects of science teaching, as conducted at present generally, 
I am desirous of aiding seekers all I can. Yours, very truly, 

Jas. C. Lathrop, 134 Park ave. 


A few fine moths. — Miss Lillie M, Stephan, sec, Pine City, Minn. 

Plants, eggs, and minerals. — Edwin F. Stratton, sec, Greenfield, 

Correspondence with distant chapters. — Miss Nellie Scull, box S, 
Rochester, Indiana. 


(56) Cicada. — A cicada was in its immature state, destitute of 
wings, and evidently just out of the ground. I placed it under a 
glass, and left it a few minutes. On returning, I saw that the skin 
had separated along the back in a line from a point on the head in a 
line with the eyes, to the first segment of the abdomen. The body 

i88 3 .] 



was arched so as to rest on its extremities. By expanding and con- 
tracting its body, the insect drew the abdomen partly out of the en- 
veloping skin, and still did not draw it forth through the opening in 
the bnck. When in this position, by the same process as before, it 
forced the skin of the head and thorax down until the eyes and head 
appeared. It then straightened itself, and lay as if exhausted. After 
a time it began again to move, and drew out first the thorax, then 
the first pair of legs, then the wings, folded and refolded, so that they 
seemed but small bits of tissue covered with minute veins. After 
the wings, the second and third pairs of legs appeared. By this lime 
the abdomen had been drawn nearly half way through the opening. 
The remaining portion was now drawn slowly forth, segment by seg- 
ment. The old skin discarded, the body of the insect was light pink; 
its feet bright red, its legs light green, and its eyes dark brown. 

Its wings now began to expand, not apparently by any action of 
the insect, but by their natural expansion, much as a flower unfolds. 
The time occupied in the entire change was a little over an hour. 
Hiram H. Bice, Utica, N. Y. 

In your August number, page 798, under the heading of "Re- 
ports from Chapters," reference is made to "a lavender drooping 
flower," and is accompanied by a wood-cut. The flower referred 
to must be Dodecatlicon Mcadia. (a primrose), which is very common 

throughout California, growing in great abundance in meadow land. 
It has a fine perfume, and fills the air with fragrance. It resembles 
the cyclamen, but is more showy and fragrant. The children call 
it "shooting-star," and it is also known as the "American cow- 
slip" and " Pride of Ohio. " 

The name Dodecatheon is derived from the Greek, ana signifies 
twelve gods, in allusion to the flowers, which are sometimes twelve 
in number, though the usual number in this State is from three to 
six Respectfully yours, 

Daniel Cleveland, of San Dicgn, < al. 

We regret that a large number of interesting notes and very en- 
couraging chapter reports arc crowded out this month. We bcliuve 
the A. A. was never in a more prosperous or happy condition than 
now. We invite all interested to join our ranks, and while we again 
heartily thank our many friends for their sympathy and aid, we urge 
all old members to renewed efforts for the cause, and to renewed 
energy in their special departments. Address all communications 
to the President, 

Harlan H. Ballard, 
Principal of Lenox Academy, Lenox, Berkshire Co., Mass. 























AT lb 
















. . 

, . . 

. . . 

, . . 














mm .' <■■ mm 




I. Hidden Words: In each of the nine horizontal lines are con- 
cealed one or more words. By selecting the right one from each 
line, a quotation from the " Comedy of Errors" may be formed. 

II. A Double Acrostic : Divide each of the four letter-circles 
in such a way that the letters, in the order in which they now stand, 
will form a word. The four words, when rightly placed, will make 
a double acrostic ; the initials and finals will each name the result of 
an engineering enterprise which is very useful to commerce. 

The rebus beneath the letter-circles, when rightly read, will fur- 
nish some information concerning the primats and finals of the 


Across : 1, A circle. 2. A forest. 3. A dunce. 4. To plunder. 
5. An apartment. 6. Meager. 7. An implement. S. To decree. 
9. The part of a class where nobody likes to be. 10. Midday. 
11. A bird. 

Downward: i. In "kerchief. 2. Two-thirds of an animal. 3. 
Three-fourths of the weft. 4. A small body of water. 5. An 
entrance-way. 6. A noose. 7. To blow. S. Humor, q. A cover- 
ing. 10. A swimming and cluing bird. n. A heath. 12. Also. 
13. A negative. 14. In kerchief. m. y. w. 


1. In insipid. 2. A preposition. 3. A peninsula of Asia. 4. 
An instrument of torture employed by dentists. 5. Beloved by 
collectors of bric-a-brac. 6. To choose a second time. 7. Speed- 
ily. S. To rest. 9. In insipid. " alcibiades." 


In each of the following sentences behead and curtail the word 
represented by the long dash, and th*re will remain three words, 
which may replace the three slmrt dashes. Example: It is Sue at 
the door ? — I am glad of a . Answer : V- is it o-r. 

1. Joseph's brethren seemed to think place to hide 

him in. 

2. When such a claim there is but little use in it. 

3. One would gaze admiration, no matter how large the 

at which she was met. 

4. His success in acknowledged fact by enemies as well 

as devoted . 

5. We look with admiration only o( the career of Xapo- 





In each of these examples, the problem is to arrange the grouped 
letters so that they will form a word agreeing with the accompany- 
ing definition. 

i, TuixirANii. Very small. 

2. Tenntoopmi. All-powerful. 

3. Missuupocor. Confused. 

4. Smeetutsol'p. Turbulent. 

5. Xicoreecphral. The author of a dictionary. 

6. Tascootnillne. . A group of stars. h. v. w 

given, the diagonals (reading downward), from left to right, and 
from right to left, will spell the names of two large lakes in the cen- 
tral part of North America. 

1. Supernatural events. 2. A formal conversation between two 
persons. 3. Broken down with age. 4. Up to this time. 5. Tak- 
ing exorbitant interest for the use of money. 6. A three-sided 
figure. 7. Matrimonial. 3. Supplication. 

"summer boarder." 



The answer to this rebus is a saying of Poor Richard. 


Each word described contains eight letters. When these have 
been rightly selected, and placed one below another in the order here 

Cross-words: i. Blotted out. 2. Cut off or suppressed, as a 
syllable. 3. Cloth made of flax or hemp. 4. A paradise. 5. A 
numeral. 6. A boy's nickname. 7. In diamond. 

Includku Diamond: i. In nimble. 2. A cover. 3. Cloth 
made from flax or hemp. 4. A cave. 5. In nimble. c. D. 


Each of the words described contains four letters. The zigzag, 
beginning at the upper left-hand corner, will spell the name of an 
.Indian girl. 

Cross-words: i. To ripple. 2. To observe. 3. An instru- 
ment of torture. 4. A volcanic mountain of Sicily. 5. A Roman 
emperor who reigned but three months. 6. A burrowing animal. 
7. Close at. hand. 8. A minute particle. 9. A decree. 10. The 
principal goddess worshiped by the Egyptians. "robin hood." 


I 1 Part of a book. 2. A girl's name. 3. Part of a prayer 
4. Useful in summer. 

II. 1. Weapons of defense. 2. Part of a plant. 3. Fashion. 
4. Part of a plant. 

Ill 1. To blink. 2. A metal. 3. Part of the face. 4. The 
joint covered by the patella. lizzie d. f. 


Illustrated Geographical Puzzle. First row : white letters, 
Maryland ; first monogram, Frederick ; second, Potomac ; third, 
Annapolis; fourth, Chesapeake; fifth, Salisbury. Second row: 
white letters, France; first monogram, Cher; second, Rouen; 
third, Marne ; fourth, Nantes; fifth, Fecamp. Third row: white 
letters, Asia; first monogram, Kiusiu ; second, Japan; third, 
Burmah ; fourth, Mandaleh ; fifth, Osaka. Fourth row : white 
letters, Maine; first monogram, Deer; second, Schoodic ; third. 
Frenchman's; fourth, Machias ; fifth, Portland. Fifth row: white 
letters, England; first monogram, Thames ; second, London ; third, 
Birmingham; fourth, Avon ; fifth, Penzance. 

Substitutions. Third row, Bull Run; fourth row, Atlanta. 
Cross-words: 1. Abet, abba. 2. Rose, rout. 3. Rope, roll. 4. 
Else, Ella. 5. Ease, earn. 6. Bore, boot. 7. Anon, Anna. 

Connected Diamonds. Central words, Charles Dickens. I. 1. 
C. 2. Oho. 3. Opals, 4. Charles. 5. Ollie. 6. See. 7. S. 
II. 1. D. 2. Lid. 3. Lucre. 4. Dickens. 5. Dread. 6. End. 
7. S. Charade. Hottentot. 

Double Acrostic. Primals, Mozart. 


Goethe. Cross- 
4. AraraT. 5. 

words : 1 MeddlinG. 2. OportO 
RajaH. 6. Terpsichore. 

Illustrated Hour-glass Puzzle. Centrals, Cat tail. Cross 
words: 1. ChiCken. 2. SlAte. 3. STy. 
Child. 7. BalLoon. 

Beheaded Rhymes, i. Spout, pout, out. 

Word-so_uare. i. Opera. 2. Piper. 3. 
> Arena. 

Rimless Wheel. From 1 to 8, Columbus. 

CAt. 6. 

2. Chill, hill, ill. 
Epode. 4. Redan. 

From 1 to 9, Cone; 
from 2 to 9, Oboe ; from 3 to 9, Lane ; from 4 to 9, Urge ; from 5 
to 9, Mate ; from 6 to 9, Blue ; from 7 to 9, Urge ; from 8 to 9, Sage. 

Double Diagonals 
1. Pshaw. 2. Nomad. 

Easy Beheadings. Beheaded 
O-men. 3. L-one. 4. T-ill. 

Half-square, i. Hudson. 
On. 6. N. Riddle. Bar, 

Diagonals, Polka, Waltz. Cross-words: 
3. Sulky. 4. Stake. 5. Zebra. 

letters, Colt. 1. Clock. 2. 


The names of those who send solutions are printed in the second number after that in which the puzzles appear. Answers should be 
addressed to St. Nicholas " Riddle-box," care of The Century Co., 33 East Seventeenth street, New York City. 

Answers to all the Puzzles in the September Number were received, before September 20, from Elsie T. — Lulu M. Stabler — 
Paul Reese — Frances Salisbury — Davidson Kennedy — Lizzie Hall and Mary Nicolson — "The Twins and their Cousin " — S. R. T. — 
Estelle Riley — Louisa Stuart Lennox — P. S. Clarkson — " The Three Graces" — Clara J. Child — Willie C. White — Minnie B. Murray 

— Maggie T. Turrill — Jennie and Birdie — Arthur Gride — Mamie Hitchcock — Francis W. Islip — " Nip and Tuck " — Hugh and Cis — 
Bessie C. Rogers — Jessie A. Piatt — F. and H. Davis. 

Answers to Puzzles in the September Number were received, before September 20, from Bucknor Van Amringe, 1 — Eliza West- 
ervelt, 2 — " The Two Annies," 10 — Cambridge Livingston, 6 — Eddie Shipsey, 4 — Violet and Pansy, 2 — "We, Us, and Company," 2 

— Eva Cora Deemer, 1 — .E., 2 — Pansy, 6 — Pussy B., 3 — Effie K. Talboys, 8 — Alice F. Wann, 1 — " Chingachgook," 1 — Theodore 
S. Palmer, 9 — Horace R. Parker, 4 — E. P. and J. H., 2 — Louisa H., 5 — Weston Stickney, 3 — Alex. Laidlaw, 6 — "Sisters Twain," 9 

— Professor and Co., 6 — G. M. L., 4 — Florence Savoye, 8 — " Kingfishers," 3 — Lillian C. Byrne, 8 — Hattie Brown Badeau, 9 — Philip 
Embury, Jr., 7 — Charles H. Kyte, 8 — " Ignoramus and Nonentity," 7 — O. K. Fagundus, 2 — Dycie, 9 — " Bob Buss and Winkie," 7 — 
No Name (England) — "Fortress Monroe," 6 — Jeannie M. Elliott, 9 — Heath Sutherland, 9 — " Alcibiades," 9 — S. L. P. and John 
Hobbie, 8 — Josephine, Josias, and Jonas, 5 — Kate B Deane, 1 — G. L. and J. W., 4 — MavG. Jones, 6 — Florence E. Provost, 5 — Katie 

L. Robertson, 6 — D. B. Shumway 6 — Charles H. Wright. 5— Eddie, 4 — L. L, 6. 


Vol. XL DECEMBER. 1883. No. 2. 

[Copyright, 1SS3, by The CENTURY CO.] 


By John G. Whittier. 

Happy young friends, sit by me, 
Under May's blown apple-tree; 
Hear a story, strange and old, 
By the wild red Indians told, 
How the robin came to be : 

Once a great chief left his son. — 

Well-beloved, his only one, — 

When the boy was well-nigh grown. 

In the trial-lodge alone. 

Left for tortures long and slow 

Youths like him must undergo, 

Who their pride of manhood test, 

Lacking water, food, and rest. 

Seven days the fast he kept, 

Seven nights he never slept. 

Then the poor boy, wrung with pain. 

Weak from nature's overstrain, 

Faltering, moaned a low complaint: 
" Spare me, Father, for I faint ! " 

But the chieftain, haughty-eyed. 

Hid his pity in his pride. 
" You shall be a hunter good. 

Knowing never lack of food ; 

You shall be a warrior great, 

Wise as fox and strong as bear ; 

Many scalps your belt shall wear, 

If with patient heart you wait 

One day more ! " the father said. 

When, next morn, the lodge he sought. 
Vol. XL— 6. 




And boiled samp and moose-meat brought 
For the boy, he found him dead. 

As with grief his grave they made, 
And his bow beside him laid, 
Pipe, and knife, and wampum-braid — 
On the lodge-top overhead, 
Preening smooth its breast of red 
And the brown coat that it wore, 
Sat a bird, unknown before. 
And as if with human tongue, 
Mourn me not," it said, or sung; 
I, a bird, am still your son, 
Happier than if hunter fleet, 
Or a brave, before your feet 
Laying scalps in battle won. 
Friend of man, my song shall cheer 
Lodge and corn-land ; hovering near, 
To each wigwam I shall bring 
Tidings of the coming spring, 
Every child my voice shall know 
In the moon of melting snow, 
When the maple's red bud swells, 
And the wind-flower lifts its bells. 
As their fond companion 
Men shall henceforth own your son. 
And my song shall testify 
That of human kin am I." 

Thus the Indian legend saith 
How, at first, the robin came 
With a sweeter life from death. 
Bird for boy, and still the same. 
If my young friends doubt that this 
Is the robin's genesis, 
Not in vain is still the myth 
If a truth be found therewith : 
Unto gentleness belong 
Gifts unknown to pride and wrong; 
Happier far than hate is praise — 
He who sings than he who slays. 



LITTLE boy, named Almion, trav- 
eling from a distant land, came at 
evening to the borders of a new 
country. He was very weary, and, 
before going farther, he looked 
about for a place in which to rest himself. He 
soon found a bank of soft moss beneath the face 
of a rock, which was still warm from the sun- 
shine that had been on it all the afternoon. So 
he laid himself down on the moss, with his back 
against the warm rock, and began to wonder 
what adventures awaited him in the country over 
yonder. The duskiness of twilight had by this 
time 50 overspread the earth that Almion could 
see little. He fancied there was a glimmer of 
many lights somewhere in the distance in front 
of him, and a murmur as of many voices : but 
while he was straining his eyes and ears, trying 
to make out what the lights were and what the 
voices said, his weariness overcame him, and he 
fell asleep. 

He had a strange dream during his sleep. He 
dreamt that it was early morning, just before 
sunrise, and that he was walking toward the East, 
when he saw, advancing to meet him, a beautiful 
little girl. She was dressed in a wonderful gar- 
ment, soft as the touch of the south wind in June, 
and changing with rainbow hues as she moved. 
Her hair flowed down on her shoulders like a deli- 
cate mist of amber ; her eyes sparkled like blue 
stars, and her voice was like the music of birds 
singing for joy — only birds can not speak in words, 
as this little maiden did. 

" Almion, is that you ? " she said. 
'•I am Almion," he said, gazing at her; "but 
I have never seen vou before. Who are vou ? " 

" I am a princess," she replied, "and I am sent 
to be your companion." 

Almion thought it would be pleasant to have 
such a lovely little companion. So he stretched 
forth his hand to take hers, and said, " Come, 
then, let us go together ! " 

" That can not be, Almion." answered the prin- 
cess, "until you have become rich and beautiful, 
and wear a garment like this of mine." 

" How shall I become rich and beautiful, and 
where shall I find such a garment ? " asked the 

" That you may learn in yonder country," said 
the little princess, pointing toward the West. 
"There is work to be done there which will give 
you both riches and beauty and the power to 
weave a rainbow garment. And then, dear Al- 
mion, we will be happy together." 

As she said these words, the princess smiled 
and waved her hand to him, as if she were about 
to go away. But Almion exclaimed : " Shall I 
never see you while my work is going on? Must 
I be all alone ? " 

The princess was silent for a moment, and Al- 
mion fancied he saw tears in her eyes. At last she 
said : 

" You will not be alone, Almion, unless you 
wish to be. But your princess can not show her- 
self to you unless you seek for her. And some- 
times, perhaps, when you think she is nearest 
you. she will be farthest away. But if you find 
the right gold, and know the true beauty, all will 
be well. Otherwise, even though I stood beside 
you. you would not know me." 

"Oh. I shall always know you!" exclaimed 
Almion. The princess smiled again, though the 

8 4 



tears were still in her eyes, and again waved her 
hand. And at that moment the great sun rose 
above the earth, directly behind her, and in its 
strong brightness her rainbow figure seemed to 
be absorbed and to vanish ; so that when the sun 
had risen a little higher, the place where she had 
just stood was empty. Almion turned around and 
looked behind him, but saw only his long shadow 
stretching over the borderland of the new country. 
With that he awoke and rubbed his eyes, and 
found that it was a dream ; but the night had 
passed over him while he slept, and the sun had 
indeed arisen, and was shining over the new coun- 
trv. The princess was nowhere to be seen ; but 
over the meadow there was a wreath of golden 
mist that reminded Almion of her hair, and from 
the grove came a music of birds that was like the 
tones of her voice, and the grass was sprinkled 
with dew that sparkled like the tears in her eyes 
when she had smiled through them. So, al- 
though he had only dreamt of her, he felt sure 
that she was a real princess, and that they would 
meet again. 

Almion's sleep had rested him, but he felt quite 
hungry ; so, having washed his face in a brook 
that flowed across the road, he set forward briskly 
in the hopes of meeting with some one who would 
give him a breakfast. The new country, seen 
by daylight, looked very pleasant. Before him 
stretched a wide plain, which, beyond, seemed to 
descend into a deep valley, with rocky clefts here 
and there, and shaggy clumps of pine-trees and 
tangled bushes. On the farther side of this valley 
a great mountain rose high aloft, with a misty 
height of snowy pinnacles, and its dark sides, 
above the forest-belt, seamed with the ancient 
furrows made by glaciers and avalanches. The 
valley and the mountain seemed wild and perilous ; 
but the plain was fertile, with cultivated fields and 
waving crops, and shady roads winding through 
the midst. Upon the verge of the plain, just 
where it overhung the deep valley, stood a pretty 
village with many little white houses ranged in 
rows, each house with a red brick chimney, and 
standing in the midst of a small square yard sur- 
rounded by' a wall. The road along which Almion 
was walking led directly to this village, and as 
he came nearer, he saw numbers of little people 
hastening to and fro in the streets. At first, he 
thought they were children, for few of them were 
any taller than himself; but when he reached the 
entrance of the village, he saw that their faces 
were old. like those of grown-up people. They all 
appeared very busy, for they hurried along, with 
their eyes on the ground or looking straight be- 
fore them ; and they paid no attention to one 

"' Will you tell me where I can get some break- 
fast ? " asked Almion of one of them who was 
passing him. 

The little man, without stopping or even look- 
ing around, pointed with his thumb over his shoul- 
der, and hurried on. 

Almion went in the direction indicated, which 
was toward the center of the village. On his way 
thither, he passed and was passed by many per- 
sons, and often he repeated to them his question, 
■'Where can I get my breakfast? " Some of them 
turned their heads aside, and crossed the road as 
if to get out of his way ; others stared at him and 
frowned; others smiled oddly; and others again 
pointed with their thumbs in the same way that 
the first had done. At last the hungry traveler 
came to a large open square, in the midst of which 
was a large table heaped up with pies and cake 
and other good things to eat ; and sitting in a 
chair beside the table was a little old woman — 
the very first woman that Almion had seen in the 
whole village. 

"Good-morning," said Almion, walking up to 
the table. . "Is this breakfast for me ? " 

The old woman had two boxes, one on each side 
of her, both containing a quantity of coarse yellow 
dust that glowed in the sunlight with a dull, 
tawny luster, and which Almion thought looked 
too dirty to handle. Nevertheless, the old woman 
kept dipping her fingers into the box on the right, 
clutching up handfuls of the yellow dust, and put- 
ting it into the box on the left ; and every time 
she did. this, she would mutter to herself the fol- 
lowing rhyme : 

" Double must, pretty dust. 
Hearts of men and iron rust" 

On hearing Almion's question, she glanced up 
at him for a moment, and then said, while she 
went on with her occupation : "Yes, if you have 
gold enough." 

" What sort of gold?" asked Almion, remem- 
bering what the princess had told him. 

" The right sort, to be sure," answered the old 
woman — " the sort I have here ; " and she fished 
up another handful of the tawny dust. 

"If that is gold," said Almion, "I have none, 
and don't want any." 

"Then you don't want any breakfast," replied 
the old woman. 

Now Almion did want his breakfast very much, 
and the sight of the cakes and pies had made him 
hungrier than ever. So he said, "Where can I 
find the gold, then ? " 

"Where other honest folks do, I suppose," re- 
turned she. 

" And where is that? " 

A L M I O X , A U K I A , AND MONA. 


"In the pit!" was her answer; and nothing 
more could he induce her to say, except to mutter 

" Double must, pretty dust, 
Hearts of men and iron rust," 

Almion turned away, feeling rather down-hearted; 
but he told himself that such yellow dirt as the old 
woman wanted must be common enough, and that 
if he could but find his way to the pit, all would 
soon be well. " Besides," added he, brightening 
up a little, " gold is what the princess told me 
to get ; and if the old woman told the truth about 
this being the right gold, then I shall not only 
be earning my breakfast, but my princess, too ! " 
This idea so encouraged him that he stepped out 
briskly, and, overtaking a little man who was 
hurrying along with a spade in one hand and a 
bucket in the other, he inquired his way to the 

The little man gave his head a jerk in the direc- 
tion in which they both were going, as much as to 
say that the pit lay before them ; so, without more 
words (for Almion had by this time begun to find 
out that very little talking was done in this coun- 
try), they jogged along together side by side, and 
the road by which they went led toward the deep 
valley beyond the verge of the plain. 

When they got there, Almion looked down and 
saw an immense hole, big enough to have held a 
good-sized hill ; and multitudes of the little people 
were scattered all about in its depths, working as 
if their lives depended upon it. Each man had a 
spade and a bucket, and they would first loosen 
the earth with their spades, and then sit down and 
sift it carefully through their fingers ; and all the 
yellow grains that were sifted out they would put 
into the buckets. It was a very tiresome and 
dirty business, but otherwise there seemed to be- 
no particular difficulty about it, and Almion 
thought he would soon be able to get all the gold 
he needed. So he set about clambering down into 
the pit. But, before doing so, he looked out across 
the valley and toward the mountain. The valley 
was a vast chasm of wild and awful beauty ; the 
sunshine never seemed to find its way into the 
lower depths, where the black rocks and swarthy 
pines made a sort of midnight even at noon. Far 
beyond, on the farther side, uprose the mighty 
mountain, towering toward the sky, steep and 
sublime, with the pure gleam of snow upon its 
pinnacled summit. It seemed a pity to go down 
into the dirty pit, out of sight of all this grandeur. 
But how else was Almion to earn his breakfast? 
Down he went, therefore, and on his way he asked 
his companion whether any one ever had crossed 
the valley and climbed the mountain. The little 

man seemed perplexed at this question. He put 
on a pair of horn spectacles and stand in the 
direction Almion pointed ; but soon he shook his 
head and smiled oddly, as much as to say that 
there were no such things as a valley and a mount- 
ain, and that Almion must be out of his wits to 
talk about such things. It is evident, however, 
that one might as well shut one's eyes as attempt 
to see through a pair of horn spectacles. 

All day long, Almion dug and sifted in the pit, 
and by evening he had quite a large heap of yel- 
low dust in his bucket ; but he was all begrimed 
with dirt, and very tired. As he climbed out of 
the hole, on his way back to the village, he saw 
that a mist had gathered over the valley, making 
it look like a cloudy ocean ; but around the crest 
of the mountain was a wreath of vapor, which the 
setting sun had turned into celestial gold. As 
Almion gazed at it, a fear came over him that this 
might be the right sort of gold after all, and that 
the stuff he had in his bucket was nothing but the 
dirt that it appeared to be. The thought almost 
made him cry ; but just at that moment some one 
touched his shoulder, and looking around, whom 
should he see but the little old woman, with a 
basket full of pies and cakes on her arm. 

" Come, my dear," she said, speaking in a much 
pleasanter tone than in the morning. " You have 
dug well to-day, and that is a fine lot of gold you 
have sifted out. Come home with me, and since 
you had no breakfast this morning, you shall now 
have breakfast, dinner, and supper all in one. 
Come along, my dear; you will be as rich and 
handsome as any of them before long." 

The sight of the good things to eat, and the 
pleasant manner of the old woman, encouraged 
Almion greatly, and made him forget all about 
the golden wreath on the mountain. So he let 
the old woman take him to her house, which was 
a little square white building like the others, with 
a brick chimney, and a wall surrounding the yard. 
There Almion ate until he was satisfied ; and then, 
feeling very heavy and stupid, he fell asleep. But 
he had no such dream as had visited him the night 

He was awakened in the morning by hearing 
the voice of the old woman in the kitchen, where 
she was scolding somebody very hard. Almion 
looked in, and saw her standing over a little creat- 
ure in a black gown, who was on her knees scrub- 
bing the kitchen floor. 

"Who is that you are scolding?" Almion 

"She is our servant, my dear," the old woman 
answered: "and a more lazy, good-tor-nothing, 
vicious little wretch does not live in this village. 
And the more I scold her the worse she gets." 




Almion thought that, in that case, it might be- 
better not to scold her at all. But just at that 
moment the old woman began to lay the table for 
breakfast, and the sight of it put the thought of 
the little servant out of his head. He ate very 
heartily, the old woman all the while pressing him 
to eat more ; and when he had finished, she said: 

''And now, my dear, you can go back to the 

day. As he went out of the house, he heard the 
old woman scolding Mona, the little servant, in 
the kitchen, and he even thought she was beating 
her. He could not help feeling sorry for the poor 
creature, who seemed to him more feeble and un- 
happy than vicious. But he told himself that the 
old woman must know more about that than he ; 
so he drove the subject out of his mind, and went 


pit and get some more of the pretty dust. And 
while you are away, I will begin to weave your 
garment for you." 

" My rainbow garment?" cried Almion, bright- 
ening up. 

"To be sure, my dear; only it will be much 
prettier than a rainbow, for it will be all made of 
gold and precious stones. And the more dust you 
get the prettier it will be, and the sooner it will be 

"And then shall I find my princess?" inquired 

" To be sure you will, my dear," replied the 
other, nodding knowingly. " You will find her 
sooner than you expect, and a very pretty prin- 
cess she will be, though I say it." 

Almion looked at the old woman, and it seemed 
to him that she was neither so old nor so ugly as 
the day before, and her voice was quite soft and 
agreeable. He hardly knew what to make of it ; 
but he resolved to get a great deal of dust that 

down to the pit. As he descended, he glanced 
over at the valley and the mountain : but a heavy 
gray mist still lay over the former, and the latter 
seemed so remote and dim as almost to be invisi- 
ble. But the pit was full of little men, all of them 
working as hard as if their lives depended upon it, 
and chanting this rhyme : 

" Pretty pelf, pretty pelf, 
Every man for himself; 
Lay it tip on the shelf, 
Pretty pelf, pretty pelf." 

At first, it struck Almion as being mere mean- 
ingless doggerel ; but after awhile, as the chant 
went on, he found himself joining in with the rest, 
and the chanting of the words seemed really to 
make the digging and sifting easier to him. So 
he dug and sifted and chanted all day long, and 
by evening he had filled his bucket up to the brim 
with yellow dust. At the pit's mouth he met the 
old woman, as before; but it was surprising to see 
how much she had improved in appearance. She 



seemed scarcely more than middle-aged, and her 
face was almost handsome. Almion gazed at her, 
and hardly knew what to make of it. 

''There you are, my dear!" she exclaimed, 
smiling at him ; " and a very good day's work you 
have done, sure enough. Come home with me at 
once ; there is a delicious supper waiting, if that 
lazy girl, Mona, has not spoiled it while I was 
away. But I '11 give her what she deserves ! " 

" Why don't you send her away, since she is 
good for nothing ? " asked Almion. 

" Ah ! that is just what she would like; but I 'm 
not going to please her. No, indeed ; she shall 
stay and work her fingers to the bone, if I have to 
scold her from morning till night. But don't you 
trouble vourself about her, my dear. I have be- 
gun to weave your garment, and it will be finished 
by the end of the week, if you work as well as you 
have done." 

When they reached the house, the mistress 
bustled about to get the supper on the table, 
rating Mona soundly all the while. Almion peeped 
into the kitchen, and there was the little servant 
on her knees on the floor, scrubbing away with 
soap and sand, and looking dingier and raggeder 
than ever. She kept her face turned away from 
Almion, but he could imagine how homely and 
haggard it must look. " She certainly is a wretched 
little creature," he said to himself; " I wish we 
could get rid of her altogether." By this time 
supper was ready, and it tasted even better than 
the evening before, and Almion ate till he was 
as full as his own bucket, his companion heaping 
more good things on his plate. At last he fairly 
fell asleep in his chair, and slept heavily until the 
next morning. 

At breakfast the old woman appeared, looking 
so fresh and young and agreeable that it was 
plainly impossible to think of her as an old woman 
any longer. She was youthful, rosy, comely, with 
the softest of voices and the sweetest of smiles. 
Her eyes were bright blue, like bits of blue china, 
and instead of the old hood which had, till now. 
covered her head, she wore a great coil of yellow- 
hair, very much the same color as the gold dust 
that Almion had been so busy gathering. Alto- 
gether, if Almion had not had an idea that he had 
heard her scolding and beating that wretched little 

Mona just before he was fully awake, he would 
have taken her to be a charming young lady, as 
good-tempered as she was good-looking. But it 
was a curious fact, which Almion hardly knew what 
to make of, that whenever she spoke to Mona, her 
voice had the same harsh and cracked tone that 
he had noticed when he first talked with her in 
the market-place, as she sat scooping the dust out 
of one box into the other. As for Mona, it did 
not seem likely that she would last much longer. 
She tottered about as if she were going to fall 
down from weakness, and her old black gown 
hung about her in tatters. She had apparently 
got all the age and infirmity that her mistress had 

"Good-morning, Almion dear," said the young 
lady, smiling at him with her blue eyes and her 
red lips. " How well and handsome you look after 
your night's sleep ! And you will soon be so rich 
that nothing short of a princess will be good 
enough for you. But see what a beautiful garment 
I am weaving for you — all gold thread and pre- 
cious stones ! " 

"Yes, it is very fine," said Almion, looking at 
the half-finished garment, which was rich, heavy, 
and glittering. " But it does not look much like a 

"There is always a difference, Almion dear," 
replied she, in a soft voice, "between what one 
imagines in a dream and what one sees in reality. 
A garment made of a rainbow would not last you 
ten minutes: it is nothing but a silly fancy; but 
this that I am making for you is all gems and 
precious metal, and will last all your life." 

" But 1 saw the princess in my dream," said 
Almion. "Was she a silly fancy, too?" 

"A real princess is better than a dream one," 
answered the other, nodding with a knowing look. 
" But, dear me ! " she added, turning away, 
' r there is that lazy wretch, Mona, at her tricks 
again ! " And she ran into the kitchen. 

" So this it is to be rich and handsome ! " said 
Almion to himself, with a sigh, as he ate his break- 
fast. " But the real princess — who can she be ? " 
In truth, Almion had begun to have an idea that 
the real princess was not far off; but for the 
present he thought it as well to keep his ideas to 

( To pc concluded. ) 




By Frank M. Bicknell. 



_r l 

-si - 

' ''" = - .": 1 1 iffi \ ' ; 


". iW lllfpi IfipV- -. ,;;:i^J 

;NCE upon a time there was a youth who had 
never learned a trade, and not knowing 
what else to do for a living, he resolved to 
be a poet. So he hung a sign over his 
door, and sat down in front of his cot- 
tage to wait for patrons. But the people 
of that country were peasants, who knew 
nothing about poetry, and for many days no one 
came near him. At last, however, the King drove 
by and saw his sign. Now, the King was a very 
stupid person, who knew little enough about any- 
thing ; yet he had been sufficiently cunning to make his subjects believe he knew everything, and 
the way he managed it was this: He always took with him, wherever he went, an exceedingly clever 
young man, and when he needed any information, he would question him as a teacher catechises a 
pupil who is reciting his lesson. The name of this young man was Koruhl, and he was also called 
the Catechised. 

When the King noticed the poet's sign, he wanted to know its meaning, so he said to the Catechised : 

" Attention, Koruhl ! What do you see over yonder door?" 

"A sign-board bearing the word ' Poet,' sire," answered the Catechised, promptly. 

" Very good," said the King, approvingly ; "and what does the word ' poet' signify, Koruhl?" 

" One who writes poetry sire." 

"Right, Koruhl; right. And now tell me — what do we understand by the term poetry?" 


8 9 


" Poetry, sire, is metrical composition," returned 
the Catechised, and the King became silent until, 
noticing that the Catechised seemed to be ponder- 
ing deeply, he exclaimed : 

" Koruhl, what do you suppose I am thinking 
about ? " 

" Sire," answered the Catechised, slowly, "you 
have already a Court Orator, a Court Historian, 
a Court Story-teller, a Court Riddle- 
maker, and a Court Jester ; perhaps 
you want to add a Court Poet." 

"You have guessed my thoughts, 
Koruhl," returned the King, much de- 
lighted. " Let it be done." 

So the poet was taken to the palace, 
and made Court Poet. He was given 
a fine apartment, where he might sit 
and meditate all day long, and every- 
body who saw him admired him, for he 
had a pale face, long, fair hair, and 
large, mournful eyes. 

" How handsome and interesting he 
they all said. " He looks as if he 
could write beautiful poetry." 
one ever knew of his writing 

Every morning, the King sat in his 
audience chamber, after the fashion of 
the country, and heard the complaints 
and settled the disputes that his subjects 
brought before him ; that is to say, this 
business was attended to with the help 
of the Catechised, who was always the 
real judge. One day, after an unusual 
number of decisions had been» rendered, 
the King said, with a great yawn : 


Jecvmeu man * 

" Koruhl. 
much hard 
what I am 

thinking : do you happen 
going to do for recreation ? 

" Perhaps, sire, you are going to bid me send 
for the Court Poet, and order him to make some 
verses for you ? " 

" Exactly, Koruhl," answered the King, much 
pleased; " let it be done." 

The Court Poet being summoned and the King's 
wishes made known, he bowed low and said : 
"On what subject will Your Majesty have me 
write ? " 

" Koruhl," demanded the King, " on 
what subject do poets usually write ? " 
"On a> variety of subjects, sire," 
answered the Catechised; "though in 
this case you will doubt- 
less ask for a poem to be 
read on the twelfth 
birth-day of 
l^» the princess, 
which will 
occur next 
\ The King 
,\ nodded 
•V loftily 

to the 
Court Poet. 

" Such is my 
will ; let it be 

"Your Maj- 
esty is doubt- 
less aware," 
said the Court 
Poet, "that po- 
etry is a work 
time, and to be 
really good must be 
written in solitude." 
"Certainly," re- 
turned the King, who 
would have been 
ashamed to appear 
ignorant in the mat- 
ter ; " you may go 
back to your apart- 
ment until the poem 
is done." 

So the Court Poet 
went to his room 
and, taking pen and 
paper, he thought 
intently until bed-time ; but he wrote nothing what- 
ever. The next day, it was the same : he did not 
write because he could not think of anything to say. 

9 o 



"If I could only make a beginning," he ex- 
claimed over and over again ; but he could not 
make a beginning, so at length he threw down his 

through. I must find a suitable rhyme for twelfth 
before going any farther." He leaned his head 
on his hands, and his long hair fell down until it 

~*-. :— : ~-- '_■-*' '- ^' 

W : '- ¥ 


IJ<2 I<?ff tKe jsJsvcc 


smd vx/er\t to 

pen and went to the Court Physician for help. 
The Court Physician was a learned man, and when 
the Court Poet asked him how he should begin his 
poem, he answered immediately : 

"Oh, that is very simple; your first two lines 
should be something like this : 

" Beautiful little princess, on your birthday — 'tis the twelfth — 
Permit your loving subjects to inquire about your health-" 

The Court Poet thanked him and went back to 
his work, but as he repeated the lines to himself, 
he noticed that health was not a rhyme for twelfth 
at all. 

"This will not do," he said; "unless I begin 
my poem aright, 1 shall never be able to carry it 

almost covered his face ; but although he thought 
steadily for a long time, he could not think of any 
rhyme for twelfth. 

" This is very strange," he said at last ; " I did 
not know I should be troubled in this way. Per- 
haps if I go out into the open air the rhyme will 
come to me. I have heard that poets sometimes 
write their poetry while wandering in the fields." 

So he left the palace and went to walk. He had 
not been out very long when he heard some birds 
singing among the trees. This led him to wonder 
if they ever sung in rhyme, and he listened to 
them patiently for nearly an hour, hoping to hear 
a rhyme for twelfth ; but the birds knew nothing 
about twelfth or its rhymes, and so he was disap- 
pointed. By and by, a bright idea came to him. 

" 1 will ask every one I meet," he said ; " surely 
some one must know a rhyme for twelfth." 

The first person who chanced to pass that way 
was the Court Historian, who walked with hands 
clasped behind him and eyes fixed on the ground. 

"No," said he, grandly, in answer to the ques- 
tion of the Court Poet, " history never uses rhymes ; 
they are undignified," and he went his way. 

Next came the Court Orator, who held his head 
very high and waved his hands in air majestically 
as he rehearsed a speech he was to give that even- 
ing at a grand dinner. He would hardly listen to 
the Court Poet at all. 

" Rhyming is a silly amusement, unworthy a 
great mind," he declared, and also went his way. 

Then came the Court Riddle-maker, in a great 

"1 am chasing an idea," he said ; "do not stop 
me. I have something else to do beside finding 
rhymes for other people ; I have already too much 



trouble with my own duties," and he, too, disap- 

As the Court Poet cast his eyes about, he saw, 
sitting on a stone bench under a tree, a man who 
was weeping bitterly ; and when he went toward 
him he saw he was no other than the Court Jester. 

"What is the matter?" he inquired, bending 
over him. 

" Nothing," answered the Court Jester. 

" Why do you weep, then ? " persisted the Court 

"Because the King has given me a holiday. 
After I have earned my bread so many years by 
making jokes and being merry, why may I not 
now enjoy a few tears undisturbed ? " 

" Certainly, you may ; only tell me first, do you 
know any rhyme for twelfth f " ^ 

" No," replied the Court Jester, shortly. 

"Alas! what shall I do? Can no one 
give me the information I need ? " 

" Have you been to the saffron-faced Car- 
rotufti ? " asked the Court Jester, taking a 
little pity on him. 

"In the lower left-hand corner of the Kingdom 
of Kandalabara, in a stone house." 

The Court Poet thanked the Court Jester (who 
immediately resumed his Weeping just where he 
had left it off) and set out for the house of the saf- 
fron-faced Carrotufti, where he arrived in about 
five days. This house was very large, for although 
only the Carrotufti lived in it, he had so many 
words, letters, figures, and other useful and curi- 
ous things, that a great deal of room was necessary 
to hold them. The Carrotufti was a very old per- 
son with bright yellow skin and a long white beard, 
and he wore a green gown, a pair of immense 
round-eyed spectacles, and a pointed cap. He 
was exceedingly busy when the Court Poet entered 
his house, for there were, waiting to be served, phi- 

a rt"*?? J 

" No, I have not," returned the Court Poet, 
brightening. " Who is he ? " 

" Do you not know ? " asked the Court Jester, in 
surprise. " He is the wisest man in the world and 
he deals in language. He has a collection of many 
thousand words, from which he sells to those who 
want to buy. If there are any rhymes for twelfth 
he will surely have them." 

" Can vou tell me where he lives ? " 

losophers, astron- 
omers, priests, law-makers, 
orators, book-writers, and many 
others who had use for words. There 
were also dishonest persons, eager to get 
with which to tell falsehoods and deceive 
they might ; but the Carrotufti was too 
shrewd for them, and. guessing their evil designs, 
refused to have anything to do with them, so they 
were forced to get along with what words they 
could beg or steal from the others. 

As each one made known his needs, the Carro- 
tufti went to something that looked like a large 
book set up on end, and, turning one or another 
of its huge leaves, selected from among the little 
cases or drawers with which it was filled the letters, 
words, or figures required, laid them on the coun- 
ter, and took payment according to their value. 
By and bv. when it was the Court Poet's turn to 

9 2 



be waited upon, the Carrotufti nodded for him to 
make known his wants. 

"Sir," said the Court Poet, "I have come a 
long distance to learn whether you have any 
rhymes for twelfth." 

The Carrotufti shook his head. " There is but 
one rhyme for twelfth in the whole world, and that 
I sold a hundred years ago, to be used at the coro- 
nation of our good king, Sharlos Twelfth. Perhaps 
the rhyme is still in the royal treasury, and the 
young queen who is now reigning may be willing 
to let you have it. You might go to the palace 
and see her." 

The Court Poet thanked the saffron-faced Car- 
rotufti for his information, and, having taken his 
leave, set out for the royal palace, which he 
reached in something less than two days. The 
Queen, who was young and very beautiful, received 
him graciously, and directed that he should be 
lodged in a splendid guest-chamber and presented 
with a fine new suit of clothes, for his own were 
worn and travel-stained. After he had rested and 
refreshed himself he came into the Queen's pres- 

her for several hours. When he asked her about 
the rhyme for twelfth, and told her why he wanted 
it, she hesitated before answering, for she thought 
to herself: 

"Although I have the rhyme among my treas- 
ures, I must not give it to him at once, lest, when 
he has it in his hands, he may leave me and return 
to his own country, which must not be, for one 
does not every day encounter a young man so 
beautiful to behold, so agreeable to converse with, 
and also a poet." So she presently said to him 
carelessly : " I think the rhyme you seek is some- 
where about the palace, though I don't know 
exactly where. It has long been out of style, and 
is so cumbrous I have made no use of it whatever; 
therefore, I fear it has not been well taken care of, 
and the letters may be scattered from one end of 
the house to the other. 1 will order a search, and 
if it can be found you shall have it. .Meanwhile, 
tarry with us, and I will take care that time shall 
pass pleasantly with you." 

The Court Poet was very glad to stay and be 
entertained by the Queen, who, on the first day, 

ence, looking so noble and handsome in his elegant 
apparel that she fell in love with him straightway, 
and made him sit down at her side and talk with 

ordered a great dinner to be prepared, and 
invited a brilliant company, who treated the 
Court Poet as if he had been a prince. At night, 
after this feasting had been brought to an end, the 
Lord Chamberlain came before the Oueen and the- 



Court Poet to make his report. He informed 

them that a strict search had been made through 

one wing of the palace, and the last letter of the 

rhyme for twelfth had been 

found in an old book of songs 

on a stone table in one of 

the tower chambers. Hethen 

presented the letter to the 

Queen, who gave it to the 

Court Poet, who, for safe 

keeping, strung it on a silken 

cord which he put about his 


On the morrow, the Queen 
again called together a great 
many illustrious pe'ople and 
made a grand chase, to which 
the Court Poet rode at her 
side, mounted on a cream- 
yellow horse, and armed with 
a costly hunting-knife having 
three large diamonds in the 
hilt. When they returned to 
the palace, the Lord Cham- 
berlain appeared as before. 
to say that the servants had 
hunted carefully through an- 
other part of the palace, and 
had found the next to the 
last letter of the rhyme for 
twelfth in ' a cookery book 
hanging on the wall near the 
great fire-place in the kitch- 
en. This letter he also laid 
before the Queen, who hand- 
ed it to the Court Poet, who 
put it on the silken cord with 
the other. 

The next day, there was 
a grand tournament, and the 
next a series of games such 
as were peculiar to that coun- 
try. Then the Queen gave 
a splendid ball, at which she 
would dance only with the 
Court Poet, although many 
nobles, and even princes, 
sought her as a partner. 

And so each day was spent 
in some kind of festivity, and 
each night the Lord Cham- 
berlain bro.ught another let- 
ter of the rhyme for twelfth, until all but one had 
been given into the hands of the Court Poet and 
strung on the cord about his neck. This, the first 
and most important, the Lord Chamberlain de- 
clared, could not be found; whereupon the Oueen 

pretended to be vexed, and ordered a continual 
search to be made, not only in and about the pal- 
ace, but throughout the kingdom, until the missing 

letter should be brought to 
ght. Meantime, she tried, 
by filling each day with new 
pleasures, to make the Court 
Poet's life the most agreeable 
that could be imagined, and 
to remove from his heart all 
desire for a return into his 
own country. 
But, although much gratified by the attentions 
shown him, he could not forget that his poem 
was unfinished and the birthday of the little prin- 
cess was approaching; so, when the Lord Cham- 
berlain had announced for the tenth time that 




nothing had been found during the day, he ad- was very deep and very clear, she took from her 

dressed the Queen thus : pocket the missing first letter of the rhyme for 

" Your Majesty, since your servants are unable to twelfth and secretly dropped it into the water, 

where it immediately sank until it 

before the ij^/ueerx &.r\d ih? C-Ourt I^oet 


rested on the bottom, far below. 
Then she leaned over the side of the 
boat and gazed at it in silence for a 
long time, until the Court Poet, 
observing her, finally asked why she 
did so. 

" I think," answered the Queen, 
slowly, "that the first letter of the 
rhyme for twelfth has fallen into the 

He bent over to see if this were 

find the letter needed to 
\ (jh\ complete the rhyme for twelfth, I 

^— ' am of the opinion that it must certainly 
have been stolen and carried out of Your Majesty's 
dominions. Therefore, I pray you, permit me to 
express my devout gratitude for all Your Majesty's 
gracious kindnesses, — and now to go away into 
the world in quest of the missing letter." 

At hearing these words, the Queen was very sad, 
for she could think of no 'excuse for denying his 
request, and she perceived he was unwiljing to be 
detained any longer: nevertheless, she besought 
him to remain one more day, promising that, if the 
letter were not then found, she would suffer him to 

So he staid, and she tried to think of a plan 
whereby she might forever prevent him from leav- 
ing her domains. By and by, she decided how to 
act, and when the sun began to go down in the 
western sky. she invited him to take a sail with 
her on a beautiful lake lying in front of the palace. 
When they were in the middle of this lake, which 

true, and as he looked down into the water, she 
seized a pair of scissors which she had concealed 
and quickly cut the silken cord on which all the 
other letters were hanging, so that they also fell 
into the lake and sank to the bottom. 
• At this accident — for such he thought it — the 
Court Poet was much dismayed, and wrung his 
hands with grief. 

" What shall I do ! " he exclaimed. " Now all 
are lost. I never can finish my poem without the 
rhyme for twelfth, which an unhappy mischance 
has now made it impossible for me ever to obtain, 
and I shall not dare go back to the King, who 
will be veiy angry with me, and will doubtless 
order me to be put to death at once. What shall 
1 do to ' escape my fate .! ' " 

Then the Queen looked at him kindly, and 
said, in her most gracious tones : 
' " Do not lament: why need you go back at all? 
Is not my country as beautiful as yours ? Is not 
my palace as splendid as your King's ? Is not my 
kingdom as grand and large as his? My people 

i88 3 .) 



have asked me to choose a husband, but I have 
never until now cared to make a choice, for I have 
sworn I will wed none but a poet. But you are a 
great poet ; can you not stay with me and share 
my possessions ? " 

It is not ever}- one to whom is made an offer so 
fine as this. The Court Poet did not hesitate long 
before accepting it. 

"Madam," he returned, "the honor and the 
happiness are beyond my deserts; but to me your 
wishes are commands, and obedience to you is 
always a pleasure." 

So they were married, and the Court Poet be- 
came King. He never again tried to write any 
poetry ; the ill success of his first attempt had 
completely discouraged him, and, besides, he had 
not time for rhyming, with the affairs of a great 
kingdom to look after. 

As for the birthday of the little princess, it came 
and went without any poem whatever; for the 
rhyme for twelfth lay out of reach hundreds and 
hundreds of feet below the surface of the lovely 
lake, where, if this story be true, it doubtless lies 
to this day. 


By Mary A. Lathbury. 

'iitL the 
fair ^Aj[oort i-fr 

I the >3he\jllC7cte^ 
yS'Jeejj ! '' 

9 6 





" It 's criss-cross high, and it 's criss-cross flat; 
Then four straight lines for the pussy cat; 
Then criss-cross under ; ah, now there '11 be 
A nice deep, cradle, dear Grandpa ! See ! 

" Now change again, and it 's flat once more — 
A lattice-window ! But where 's the door ? 
Why, change once more, and, holding it so, 
We can have a very good door, you know. 

" Now over, now under, now pull it tight ; 
See-saw, Grandpa! — exactly right!" 
So prattled the little one, Grandfather's pet, 
As deftly she wrought. "See, now it's a net! 

But where did you learn cat's-cradle so well?" 
She suddenly asked : and he could not tell. 
He could not tell, for his heart was sore, 
As he gravely said, "I have played it before." 

What could the sweet little maiden know 
Of beautiful summers long ago ? 
Of the merry sports, and the games he played, 
When "Mamma," herself, was a little maid? 

What, could she know of the thoughts that ran 
Through the weary brain of the world-worn man ? 
But she knew, when she kissed him, dear 

Grandpa smiled, 
And that was enough for the happy child. 




By Hjalmar Hjorth Boyesen. 

First Story — Magnie's Dangerous Ride. 

Magnie was consumed with the hunting fever. 
He had been away to school since he was ten 
years old, and had never had the chance of doing 
anything remarkable. While his brother, Olaf, 
who was a midshipman in the navy, roamed about 
the world, and had delightful adventures with 
Turks and Arabs, and all sorts of outlandish peo- 
ples, Magnie had to scan Virgil and Horace and 
torment his soul with algebraic problems. It was 
not at all the kind of life he had sketched out for 
himseif, and if it had not been his father who 
had imposed it upon him, he would have broken 
away from all restraints and gone to Turkey or 
China, or some place where exciting things hap- 
pened. In the meanwhile, as he lacked money 
for such an enterprise, he would content himself 
with whatever excitement there was in hunting, 
and as his brothers, Olaf and little Edwin (who 
was fourteen years old), were also at home for the 
vacation, there was a prospect of many delightful 
expeditions by sea and by land. Moreover, their 
old friend, Grim Hering-Luck, who was their 
father's right-hand man, had promised to be at 
their disposal and put them on the track of excit- 
ing experiences. They had got each a gun, and 
had practiced shooting at a mark daily since their 
return from the city. Magnie, or Magnus Birk as 
his real name was, had once (though Olaf stoutly 
maintained that it was mere chance) hit the bull's- 
eye at a hundred yards, and he was now eager to 
show his skill on something more valuable than 
a painted target. It was, therefore, decided that 
Grim and the boys should go reindeer hunting. 
They were to be accompanied by the professional 
hunter, Bjarne Sheepskin. 

It was a glorious morning. The rays of the sun 
shot from the glacier peaks in long radiant shafts 
down into the valley. The calm mirror of the fiord 
glittered in the light and fairly dazzled the eye, and 
the sea-birds drifted in noisy companies about the 
jutting crags, plunged headlong into the sea, and 
scattered the spray high into the air. The blue 
smoke rose perpendicularly from the chimneys 
of the fishermen's cottages along the beach, and 
the housewives, still drowsy with sleep, came out, 
rubbed their eyes and looked toward the sun to 
judge of the hour. One boat after another was 
pushed out upon the water, and the ripples in their 
wakes spread in long diverging lines toward either 
shore. The fish leaped in the sun, heedless of the 

VOL. XI, — 7. *A species 

gulls which sailed in wide circles under the sky, 
keeping a sharp lookout for the movements of the 
finny tribe. The three boys could only stand and 
gaze in dumb astonishment upon the splendid 
sights which the combined heavens, earth, and sea 
afforded. Their father, who was much pleased 
with their determination and enterprise, had 
readily given his consent to the reindeer hunt, on 
condition that Grim should take command and be 
responsible for their safety. They were now mounted 
upon three sturdy ponies, while their provisions, 
guns, and other commodities were packed upon 
a fourth beast — a shaggy little monster named 
Bruno, who looked more like a hornless goat than 
a horse. Bjarne Sheepskin, a long, round-shoul- 
dered fellow, with a pair of small, lively eyes, was 
leading this heavily laden Bruno by the bridle, 
and the little caravan, being once set in motion, 
climbed the steep slopes toward the mountains 
with much persistence and dexterity. The ponies, 
which had been especially trained for mountain 
climbing, planted theirhoofs upon the slippery rocks 
with a precision which was wonderful to behold, 
jumped from stone to stone, slipped, scrambled 
up and down, but never fell. As they entered the 
pine forest, where the huge trunks grew in long, 
dark colonnades, letting in here and there stray 
patches of sunshine, partridges and ptarmigan 
often started under the very noses of the horses, 
and Magnie clamored loudly for his gun, and grew 
quite angry with Bjarne, who would allow " no 
fooling with tomtits and chipmunks, when they 
were in search of big game." Even hares were per- 
mitted to go unmolested ; and it was not until a fine 
caper-cailzie* cock tumbled out of the underbrush 
close to the path, that Bjarne flung his gun to his 
cheek and fired. The caper-cailzie made a som- 
ersault in the air, and the feathers flew about it 
as it fell. Bjarne picked it up quietly, tied its legs 
together, and hung it on the pommel of Edwin's 
saddle. "That will make a dinner for gentlefolks," 
he said, " if the dairy-maids up on the saeters 
should happen to have nothing in the larder." 

Gradually, as they mounted higher, the trees 
became more stunted in their growth, and the 
whole character of the vegetation changed. The 
low dwarf-birch stretched its long, twistedbranches 
along the earth, the silvery-white reindeer-moss 
clothed in patches the barren ground, and a few 
shivering alpine plants lifted their pale, pink 

of grouse. 




flowers out of the general desolation. As they 
reached the ridge of the lower mountain range, the 
boys saw before them a scene the magnificence of 
which nearly took their breath away. Before them 
lay a wide mountain plain, in the bottom of which 
two connected lakes lay coldly glittering. Round 
about, the plain was settled with rude little log- 
houses, the so-called saciers, or mountain dairies, 
where the Norse peasants spend their brief sum- 
mers, pasturing their cattle. 

They started at a lively trot down the slope to- 
ward this highland plain, intending to reach the 
Hasselrud sactcr, where they expected to spend the 
night ; for it was already several hours past noon, 
and there could be no thought of hunting reindeer 
so late in the day. Judging by appearances, the 
boys concluded that fifteen or twenty minutes 
would bring them to the saeierj but they rode on 
for nearly two hours, and always the cottages 
seemed to recede, and the distance showed no signs 
of diminishing. They did not know how deceptive 
all distances are in this wondrously clear mount- 
ain air, whose bright transparency is undimmed 
by the dust and exhalations of the lower regions 
of the earth. They would scarcely have believed 
that those huge glacier peaks, which seemed to 
be looming up above their very heads, were some 
eight to twelve miles away, and that the eagle 
which soared above their heads was far beyond 
the range of their rifles. 

It was about five o'clock when they rode in upon 
the saeter green, where the dairy-maids were al- 
ternately blowing their horns and yodeling. Their 
long flaxen braids hung down their backs, and their 
tight-fitting scarlet bodices and white sleeves gave 
them a picturesque appearance. The cattle were 
lowing against the sky, answering the call of the 
horn. The bells of cows, goats, and sheep were 
jangled in harmonious confusion ; and the noise 
of the bellowing bulls, the bleating sheep, and the 
neighing horses was heard from all sides over 
the wide plain. 

The three brothers were received with great cor- 
diality by the maids, and they spent the evening, 
after the supper was finished, in listening to mar- 
velous stories about the ogres who inhabited the 
mountains, and the hunting adventures with which 
Bjarne Sheepskin's life had been crowded, and 
which he related with a sportsman's usual exag- 
geration. The beds in one of the sactcr cottages 
were given up to the boys, and they slept peacefully 
until about four o'clock in the morning, when Grim 
aroused them and told them that everything was 
ready for their departure. They swallowed their 
breakfast hastily and started in excited silence 
across the plateau. Edwin and the horses they 
left behind in charge of the dairy-maids, but took 

with them a shepherd dog who had some good 
blood in him, and had a finer scent than his sedate 
behavior and the shape of his nose would have led 
one to suppose. 

Light clouds hovered under the sky ; the mist 
lay like a white sheet over the mountain, and 
drifted in patches across the plain. Bjarne and 
Grim were carrying the guns, while Olaf led the 
dog, and Magnus trotted briskly along, stooping 
every now and then to examine every unfamiliar 
object that came in his way. The wind blew to- 
ward them, so that there was no chance that their 
scent could betray them, in case there were herds 
of deer toward the north at the base of the glaciers. 
They had not walked very far, when Bjarne put 
his hand to his lips and stooped down to examine 
the ground. The dog lifted his nose and began 
to snuff the air, wag his tail, and whine impatiently. 

''Hush, Yutul," whispered Bjarne; "down! 
down, and keep still ! " 

The dog crouched down obediently and held his 

"Here is a fresh track," the hunter went on, 
pointing to a hardly perceptible depression in the 
moss. "There has been a large herd here — one 
buck and at least a dozen cows. Look, here is a 
stalk that has just been bitten off, and the juice is 
not dry yet." 

"How long do you think it will be before we 
shall meet them?'" asked Magnus, breathlessly. 
The hunting-fever was throbbing in his veins, and 
he crawled cautiously among the bowlders with his 
rifle cocked. 

" Could n't tell ; may be an hour, may be three. 
Hand me your field-glass, Lieutenant, and I will 
see if I can catch sight of 'em. A gray beast is n't 
easily seen agin the gray stone. It was fer the 
same reason 1 wanted ye to wear gray clothes ; 
we don't want to give the game any advantage, 
fer the sentinels be allers on the lookout fer the 
herd, and at the least bit of unfamiliar color, they 
give their warnin' snort, and off starts the flock, 
scudding away like a drift of mist before the wind. " 

Crouching down among the lichen-clad rocks, 
all listened in eager expectation. 

"Down!" commanded Bjarne, "and cock 
rifles ! A pair of antlers agin the snow! That 's 
all. Don't anybody rise so as to show agin the sky. 
Hallo! it is as I thought — a big herd. One, 
two, three — five — seven — ten — fourteen! One 
stunnin' buck, worth- his forty dollars, at least. 
Now follow me slowly. Look out for your guns ! 
You, Grim, keep the dog muzzled." 

The boys strained their eyes above the edge of 
the stones, but could see nothing. Their hearts 
hammered against their sides, and the blood 
throbbed in their temples. As far as their eyes 

iS8 3 .] 



could reach, they saw only the gray waste of bowl- denly stretched himself flat upon the ground, and 
ders, interrupted here and there by patches of snow the others, though seeing no occasion for such 
or a white glacier-stream, which plunged wildly a maneuver, promptly followed his example. Bui 
over a precipice, while a hovering smoke indicated the next moment enlightened them. Looming up 

against the white snow, some sixty or a 
hundred feet from them, they saw a mag- 
nificent pair of antlers, and presently the 
whole body of a proud animal was distinctly 
visible against the glacier. In the ravine be- 
low, a dozen or more cows with their calves 
were nibbling the moss between the stones, 
but with great deliberateness, lifting their 
heads every minute and snuffing the air 
suspiciously; they presently climbed up on 
the hard snow and began a frolic, the like 
of which the boys had never seen before,, 
The great buck raised himself on his hind- 
legs, shook his head, and made a leap, 
kicking the snow about him with great 
vehemence. Several of the cows took this 
as an invitation for a general jollification, 
and they began to frisk about, kickijig their 
heels against the sky and shaking their 
heads, not with the wanton grace of their 
chief, but with half-pathetic attempts at 
imitation. This, Magnus thought, was evi- 
dently a reindeer ball ; and very sensible 
they were to have it early in the morning, 
when they felt gay and frisky, rather than 
in the night, when they ought to be asleep. 
What troubled him, however, was that 
Bjarne did not shoot ; he himself did not 
venture to send a bullet into the big buck, 
although it seemed to him he had an ex- 
cellent aim. The slightest turn in the wind 
would inevitably betray them, and then they 
would have had all their toil for nothing. 
He would have liked to suggest this to 
Bjarne ; but in order to do this, he would 
have to overtake him, and Bjarne was still 
wriggling himself cautiously forward among 
the stones, pushing himself on with his 
elbows, as a seal does with his flippers. In 
his eagerness to impart his counsel to Bjarne, 
Magnus began to move more rapidly ; rais- 
ing himself on his knees, he quite inadver- 
tently showed his curly head above a bowl- 
der. The buck lifted his superb head with 
a snort, and with incredible speed the whole 
herd galloped away ; but in the same mo- 
ment two bullets whistled after them, and 
the buck fell flat upon the snow. The cow 
which had stood nearest to him reared on her 
hind-legs, made a great leap, and plunged head- 
long down among the stones. With a wild war- 
whoop, the boys jumped up, and Magnus, who 
had come near ruining the whole sport, seized, in 



its further progress through the plain. Neverthe- 
less, trusting the experience of their leader, they 
made no remark, but crept after him, choosing, 
like him, every available stone for cover. After 
half an hour of this laborious exercise, Bjarne sud- 




order to make up for his mishap, a long hunting- thing was being done by his companions for his 
knife and rushed forward to give the buck the coup rescue. But he could see nothing except a great 
de grace,* in accordance with the rules of the chase, expanse of gray and white lines, which ran into 

■-^-.— -- . 
"magnie instinctively seized one of the reindeer's horns to keep from falling.' 

Bounding forward with reckless disregard of all ob- 
stacles, he was the first down on the snow. In one 
instant he was astride of the animal, and had just 
raised his knife, when up leaped the buck and tore 
away along the edge of the snow like a gust of 
wind. The long-range shot, hitting him in the head, 
had only stunned him, but had not penetrated the 
skull. And, what was worse, in his bewilderment 
at the unexpected maneuver, Magnus dropped his 
knife, seizing instinctively the horns of the rein- 
deer to keep from falling. Away they went with a 
terrific, dizzying speed. The frightened boy clung 
convulsively to the great antlers ; if he should fall 
off, his head would be crushed against the bowl- 
ders. The cold glacier-wind whistled in his ears, 
and stung his face like a multitude of tiny needles. 
He had to turn his head in order to catch his 
breath ; and he strained his eyes to see if any- 

each other and climbed and undulated toward him 
and sloped away, but seemed associated with no 
tangible object. He thought, for a moment, that 
he saw Grim Hering-Luck aiming his gun, but he 
seemed to be up in the sky, and to be growing huger 
and huger until he looked more like a fantastic 
cloud than a man. The thought suddenly struck 
him that he might be fainting, and it sent a thrill 
of horror through him. With a vehement effort 
he mastered his fear and resolved that, whatever 
happened, he would not give way to weakness. If 
he was to lose his life, he would, at all events, make 
a hard fight for it ; it was, on the whole, quite a 
valuable life, he concluded, and he did not mean 
to sell it cheaply. 

Troubling himself little about the direction his 
steed was taking, he shut his eyes, and began to 
meditate upon his chances of escape ; and after 

' The finishing stroke. 

i88 3 .) 



some minutes, he was forced to admit that they 
seemed very slim. When the buck should have 
exhausted his strength, as in the course of time 
he must, he would leave his rider somewhere in 
this vast trackless wilderness, where the biting 
wind swept down from the eternal peaks of ice, 
where wolves roamed about in great hungry com- 
panies, and where, beside them, the reindeer and 
the ptarmigan were the only living things amid 
the universal desolation. When he opened his 
eyes again, Magnus discovered that the buck had 
overtaken the fleeing herd, which, however, were 
tearing away madly at his approach, being evi- 
dently frightened at the sight and the scent of the 
unfamiliar rider. The animal was still galloping 
on, though with a less dizzying rapidity, and Mag- 
nus could distinguish the general outline of the 
objects which seemed to be rushing against him, 
as if running a race in the opposite direction. 
The herd were evidently seeking safety 
in the upper glacier region, where no 
foot less light and swift than their own 
could find safety among the terrible 
ravines and crevasses. 

Fully an hour had passed, possibly 
two, and it seemed vain to attempt to 
measure the distance which he had 
passed over in this time. At all events, 
the region did not present one famil- 
iar object, and of Olaf and his com- 
panions Magnie saw no trace. The 
only question was, what chance had 
they of finding him, if they undertook 
to search for him as, of course, they 
would. If he could only leave some 
sign or mark by which they might 
know the direction he had taken, their 
search might perhaps be rewarded 
with success. He put one hand in his 
pocket, but could find nothing that 
he could spare except a red silk hand- 
kerchief. That had the advantage of 
being bright', and would be sure to 
attract attention. The dog would be 
likely to detect it or to catch the scent 
of it. But he must have something 
heavy to tie up in the handkerchief, 
or it might blow "all over creation." 
The only thing he could find was a 
silver match-box which he had ob- 
tained by a trade with Olaf, and which 
bore the latter's initials. He carefully 
emptied it, and put the matches (which he fore- 
saw might prove useful) in his vest pocket ; then 
tied up the box securely and dropped it, with the 
handkerchief, upon a conspicuous rock, where its 
bright color might appear striking and unnatural. 

He was just on the ridge of what proved to be a 
second and higher mountain plateau, the wild 
grandeur of which far transcended that of the first. 
Before him lay a large sheet of water of a cool 
green tint, and so clear that the bottom was visible 
as far as the eye could reach. A river had made 
its way from the end of this lake and plunged, in 
a series of short cataracts, down the slope to the 
lower plain. 

It made Magnus shiver with dread to look at 
this coldly glittering surface, and what was his 
horror when suddenly his reindeer, in his pursuit 
of the herd, which were already in the water, 
rushed in, and began with loud snorts to swim 
across to the further shore ! This was an unfore- 
seen stratagem which extinguished his last hope 
of rescue; for how could Bjarne track him through 
the water, and what means would he find of cross- 
ing, in case he should guess that the herd had 



played this dangerous trick on him ? He began 
to dread also that the endurance of the buck would 
be exhausted before he reached dry land again, and 
that they might both perish miserably in the lake. 
In this horrible distress, nothing occurred to him 




except to whisper the Lord's Prayer; but as his 
terror increased, his voice grew louder and louder, 
until he fairly shouted the words, "And deliver 
us from evil," and the echoes from the vast soli- 
tudes repeated first clearly and loudly, then with 
fainter and fainter accents: "And deliver us 
from evil — and deliver us from evil." His despair- 
ing voice rang strangely under the great empty 
sky, and rumbled away among the glaciers, which 
flung it back and forth until it died away in the 
blue distance. It was as if the vast silent wilder- 
ness, startled at the sound of a human voice, were 
wonderingly repeating the strange and solemn 

A vague sense of security stole over him when 
he had finished his prayer. But the chill of the 
icy water had nearly benumbed his limbs, and 
he feared that the loss of heat would conquer 
his will, and make him unconscious before the 
buck should reach the shore. He felt distinctly 
his strength ebbing away, and he knew of nothing 
that he could do to save himself. Then suddenly 
a daring thought flashed through his brain. With 
slow and cautious movements he drew his legs out 
of the water, and, standing for a moment erect on 
the buck's back, he crawled along his neck and 
climbed up on the great antlers, steadying him- 
self carefully and clinging with all his might. His 
only fear was that the animal would shake him off 
and send him headlong into the icy bath from which 
he was endeavoring to escape. But, after two futile 
efforts, during which the boy had held on only by 
desperate exertion, the buck would probably have 
resigned himself to his fate, if he had not been 
in imminent danger of drowning. Magnus was, 
therefore, much against his will, forced to dip his 
limbs into the chilly water, and resume his for- 
mer position. It was a strange spectacle, to see 
all the horned heads round about sticking out 
of the water, and Magnus, though he had always 
had a thirst for adventures, had never expected to 
find himself in such an incredible situation. Fort- 
unately, they were now approaching the shore, 
and whatever comfort there was in having terra 
firma under his feet would not be wanting to him. 
The last minutes were indeed terribly long, and 
again and again the buck, overcome with fatigue, 
• dipped his riose under the water, only to raise it 
again with a snort, and shake his head as if im- 
patient to rid himself of his burden. But the boy, 
with a spark of reviving hope, clung only the more 
tenaciously to the antlers, and remained unmoved. 

At last, — and it seemed a small eternity since 

( Concluded 

he had left his brother and companions, — Magnus 
saw the herd scramble up on the stony beach, 
and the buck he rode was soon among the fore- 
most, and, having reached the land, shook his 
great body and snorted violently. 

" Now 's my chance," thought Magnus, " now I 
can slide off into the snow before he takes to his 
heels again." 

But, odd as it may seem, he had a reluctance to 
part company with the only living creature (except 
the wolves) that inhabited this awful desert. There 
was a vague chance of keeping from freezing to 
death as long as he clung to the large, warm ani- 
mal ; while, seated alone upon this bleak shore, 
with his clothes wringing wet, and the cold breath 
of the glacier sweeping down upon him, he would 
die slowly and miserably with hunger and cold. 
He was just contemplating this prospect, seeing 
himself in spirit lying dead upon the shore of the 
lake, and picturing to himself the grief of his 
brother and father, when suddenly his glance was 
arrested by what seemed a faint column of smoke 
rising from among the bowlders. The herd of 
reindeer had evidently made the same discovery, 
for they paused, in a startled manner, and 
wheeled about toward the easterly shore, past 
which a branch of the glacier was pushing down- 
ward into the lower fiord-valley. 

Magnie, who had by this time made up his 
mind not to give up his present place except for a 
better one, strained his eye in the opposite direc- 
tion, to make sure that he was not deceived; and 
having satisfied himself that what he saw was 
really smoke, he' determined to leap from his seat 
at the very first opportunity. But as yet the 
speed of the buck made such a venture unsafe. 
With every step, however, the territory was be- 
coming more irregular, and made the progress 
even of a reindeer difficult. 

Magnus drew up his feet, and was about to 
slide off, having planned to drop with as slight 
a shock as possible upon a flat moss-grown rock, 
when, to his utter amazement, he saw a human 
figure standing at the edge of the glacier, and 
aiming a rifle, as it appeared, straight at his head. 
He tried to scream, but terror choked his voice. 
He could not bring forth a sound. And before 
even the thought had taken shape in his bewildered 
brain he saw a flash, and heard the report of a 
shot which rumbled away with tremendous rever- 
berations among the glaciers. There was a surg- 
ing sound in his ears, and strange lights danced 
before his eyes. He thought he must be dead. 

next monih.) 

i88 3 .] 



By Olive May Eager. 



All boys and girls who have read recent Italian 
history are familiar with the name of Victor Em- 
manuel, who united the various states of Italy 
into one kingdom. As the Italians had long been 
hoping and praying for this union, they naturally 
regarded Victor Emmanuel as the savior of their 
country, and were much grieved when he died, in 
187S. His son Humbert succeeded him on the 
throne, and he in time will be followed by his only 

son, the Prince of Naples, this title corresponding 
in Italy to the title of Prince of Wales in England. 
The little Prince bears his grandfather's name, 
Victor Emmanuel, and was born November 11, 
1869, in Naples, probably the most beautiful city 
of the whole world. Should the Prince marry 
before he becomes king, he will live in the royal 
palace of Naples, which is built overlooking the 
lovely bay, and in full view of Vesuvius, with its 




undying volcanic fires and streams of smoke. As 
I walked through the large palace, passing suite 
after suite of elegantly furnished rooms, I thought 
of the boyish owner, and wondered if he feels very 
haughty and proud as he gazes upon his posses- 
sions. In the center of the superb dining-room 
stands an ornamental cradle presented at his birth 
by the city of Naples. 

Adjoining one end of the palace is the theater 
of San Carlo, which has an interesting story. 
When Charles III. was King of Naples, he issued 
orders for the most magnificent theater of Europe 
to be built in the shortest time possible. Angelo 
Carasale, a Neapolitan architect, offered to com- 
plete it in three months, and by great effort and 
energy actually did so. On the opening night, 
the King sent for the architect to come to the royal 
balcony, and there publicly commended his work, 
adding that only one thing was lacking, and that 
was a private door and stair-case leading from the 
palace into the theater for the use of the royal 
family. The architect bowed low. and retired that 
the play might begin. When the play was fin- 
ished, the architect again appeared before the 
King, saying, "Your Majesty's wish is accom- 
plished," and preceded the astonished monarch to 
a private entrance in one end of the theater. In 
the three hours that the acting had engaged the 
King's attention, the untiring architect had col- 
lected his workmen, and by almost superhuman 
effort had completed his task. He had torn down 
partitions and laid huge logs of wood for a stair- 
way : but elegant velvet carpets and beautiful cur- 
tains concealed the rough floors and defaced walls, 
while a skillful arrangement of handsome mirrors 
and chandeliers produced a magical effect, and 
made the whole seem the work of fairy hands. 
Afterward, the entrance was properly finished, and 
last summer I walked from the palace through 
this private door, and stood in the royal balcony 
where the King had received the architect nearly 
one hundred and fifty years before. I trust the 
Prince of Naples will profit by this monument of 
energy and perseverance which he has continually 
before him in his own palace. 

The young Prince spends his winters in Rome, 

and may be often seen driving on the Corso, the 
main street of the city. Were it not for the bright 
scarlet livery of the coachmen, a stranger would 
not notice particularly the neatly and quietly- 
dressed boy, driving with a middle-aged gentle- 
man. But the Romans all know and love the 
boyish face, raising their hats politely as the car- 
riage passes, while the principino (little prince), as 
they call him, gracefully bows in acknowledgment 
of their courtesy. He is a fine, manly little fellow, 
and is being trained with the care and attention 
that his rank deserves. He has the best masters 
that it is possible to procure, and they instruct him 
in various branches of study. 

At rare intervals he is seen driving with his 
mother, the beautiful and beloved Queen Mar- 
garet; but he is usually accompanied by his private 
tutor, a cultured and educated man, whose chief 
thought is to interest his young charge and im- 
prove his mind. They often drive by in earnest 
conversation, the Prince evidently asking questions 
about something he has seen in passing, and the 
tutor giving him all the information in his power. 
I am sure this gentleman is fully sensible of the 
great responsibility resting upon him, for upon 
him more than any other man depends the char- 
acter of the next king of Italy, who will have grave 
matters to decide and momentous questions to 
settle. Judging from his face, I feel equally sure 
that the principino himself thinks seriously of the 
importance of improving the present, in order that 
he may know how to rule his people with judg- 
ment and wisdom. 

I give the following incident as it was related to 
me by the personal friend of an English peeress 
who was in the habit of attending the court re- 
ceptions. She was at a private reception of the 
Queen, when the principino came into the room 
and gave her a kiss of greeting. His mother told 
him it was rude not to ask permission to kiss a 
lady. The boy replied archly, "Ah, Mother, 
English ladies like to be kissed." 

I conclude this short sketch with two items that 
may interest you. The Prince of Naples speaks 
the English language very well, and is also a con- 
stant reader of St. Nicholas. 



By Mrs. S. M. B. Piatt. 


I KNOW a ruin on a hill — 
Like other ruins it may be, 

It must be tired of standing still 
And always looking at the sea. 

It has invited me to sit 

Till after dark. But then it 's clear — 
Somehow — oh, I don't care a whit 

For Things vou can not see nor hear. 

So old that I am young by it. 

It tells me tales of monk and knight - 

Tales that no chronicler hath writ, 
Just as my great-grandmother might. 

It likes to talk of silken train, 

Of jeweled sword and plumed head, 

And quite forgets how low the rain 
Has beaten down its courtly dead. 

But, children, though this ruin might 
Not be the place to sleep, you see, 

At morning it 's the prettiest sight 
In all this pretty world to me. 

For when, like one that 's slept too loin 
The sudden sun before me springs, 

Ivy and stone break into song 

And hall and battlement take wings ! 

It told me, with a gracious air, 
About Elizabeth's best gown ; 

But when I spoke of her red hair 
And painted nose, I saw it frown ! 

The lords of earth lie still down there : 
They have their night who had their day. 

See, in their place the lords of air 
Make merry with their honors gray : 




From mullioned windows they peep out, 

In families or in lover-pairs ; 
On the high walls they walk about 

And chatter of their sweet affairs. 

Sir Something, gone from grave-yard fame, 
God rest you under flower and dew ! 

The wind has blown away your name, 
But, in my heart, I reverence you. 

Oh, you were good to build (too good 
For rne to set your praise to words) 

So brave a castle by the wood 
To be the happy home of birds ! 

By Tudor Jenks. 

A LAZY magician, tired of work, left Damascus 
and went into a sandy desert, seeking quiet and 
solitude. Finding a lonely place, he filled his pipe, 
and, after smoking it out, fell fast asleep. 

An indolent wizard, looking for rest, came riding 
across the desert upon a magic camel, which he 
had made out of an old rug that morning, and, 
not seeing the sleeping magician, ran over him. 

Now, magical creations can not touch magicians 
without vanishing. So the wizard's, camel van- 
ished, the wizard fell plump down on top of the 
magician, and the baggage which the camel car- 
ried was scattered on the sand. 

The wizard was the first to collect his senses, and 
asked, in a fierce voice : " Where is my camel ? " 

The magician replied, with some anger: " Don't 
you think you 'd better ask some one who was 
awake while your camel was getting away ? " 

'•You are the only man I have met in this 
desert," replied the wizard. 

" Perhaps," resumed the magician, " your camel 
may have climbed one of the trees with which you 
see the desert is covered ; if you think I 've got 
him, you can search me." 

" I made that camel only this morning," said 
the wizard, complainingly. 

" You are then a magician ? " asked the other. 

" No ; I 'm only a wizard," replied the first. 

" Well, / 'in a magician, and I should think 
you would know better than to drive your camel 
up against me." 

" It was careless, I admit," replied the wizard. 
"But let that go: I can make another. I hope I 
did n't hurt you ? " 

"Oh! not at all; I was lying down there on 
purpose ; that is why I came to the desert, where 
there are so many passing," remarked the magi- 
cian, rubbing his side. 

" I can not regret an accident which brings me 
so agreeable a companion," replied the wizard, 
with a low bow. 

" I 'm sorry to have lost my temper," said the 
magician, more good naturedly; " but, since I came 
to this desert looking for quiet and solitude, I was 
not glad to see you." 

" I, also, was sorry to meet any one, even your- 
self, for I was equally anxious to be alone," re- 
joined the wizard, frankly. 

i88 3 .] 



" Well," said the magician, thoughtfully, "since 
you are a wizard and I a magician, and each of us 
wishes solitude, .the matter is easily remedied. 
Nothing is easier than to put twenty leagues be- 
tween us. I have only to wish it." 

"Allow me," asked the wizard, politely, " to join 
you in the wish." 

"Certainly," said the magician; " we can save 
our feelings by making the parting mutual. We 
will wish together." 

"Agreed," said the wizard, eagerly. "Are you 
ready ? " 

" Quite ! " returned the magician, delighted. 

So they raised their wands, shook hands, and 
said together: "I wish myself twenty leagues 
away ! " 

They were powerful enchanters, and the wish 
was at once accomplished. In an instant they 
stood together in a place twenty leagues away. 

"I am afraid," said the magician, after a mo- 
ment's silence, — " I am afraid that this can not be 
called a success. We have traveled some distance, 
but solitude seems as far off as ever. Perhaps 
we forgot to take it with us. We must wish again ; 
this time, each for himself!" The wizard agreed 
that this was the best plan. So, saying, "Excuse 
my back," he turned from the magician and wished 
himself back again where he was at first. Instantly 
he was there, among his pieces of baggage. 

"Ah," said he, smiling, "it was not a bad 
adventure, but I am glad to be alone again ! " 

"Ahem!" exclaimed a voice behind him. "I 
beg pardon, I 'm sure ; but 1 fear there has been 
another mistake. I am sorry to see we both hap- 
pened to find this spot so attractive ! " 

The wizard turned and saw the magician stand- 
ing behind him, looking very foolish. 

"So you're there, are you? Well, it was a 
natural mistake ! We must have no mistake this 
time. I 'II give the word, and let us each wish our- 
selves forty leagues away in opposite directions — 
you to the east, I to the west." 

The word was given, the wands waved, and, 
presto ! — nothing at all ! Each stood where he 
was before, for each expected the other to wish 
himself away. 

" It seems to me," said the wizard, after a slight 
pause, " that it is hardly fair to expect me to leave 
all my baggage lying around here on the sand ! " 

" But I was here first," said the magician. 

"Yes, to sleep. It strikes me as rather a 
spacious bedroom ! " 

" I like a large bedroom," replied the magician. 
" But we wander from the subject. It is, of course, 
useless for us to wish again. We have had our 
three chances, and must now make the best of it. 
Sit down and have a smoke." 

In a moment they were puffing out blue clouds 
of smoke, sitting cross-legged opposite each other. 

" May I ask," said the wizard, presently, " how 
long you have been practicing your profession?" 

" Only since Merlin's time — say about a thou- 
sand years. I was a pupil of Merlin, and a very 
good teacher he was." 

" Indeed ! " said the wizard, with more respect ; 
"that is a long time. I can not claim more than 
five centuries. I am but a beginner beside you." 

" By hard work you might have learned much 
in that time." 

"I fear I have been lazy," said the wizard, 

"Perhaps being, as Shakespeare will soon say, 
' an older soldier, not a better,' I might be able 
to give you a useful hint or two. We have still 
some daylight before us. Suppose we have a 
lesson ? " 

" I fear I will only bore you," said the wizard, 
rather nettled by the patronage of the other. 

" I have nothing else to do, and should enjoy 
teaching so promising a pupil," said the magician, 
rather pompously. 

This was a little too much, for the wizard had 
graduated with the degree of F. W. (Full Wizard) 
some three centuries before. He attempted to 
make excuses, saying: " I am really out of prac- 
tice; my wand is dusty from disuse." 

"Oh, bother your excuses! I can see your 
true rank at once. Go ahead ! " said the magician. 

Not seeing how to refuse without being rude, 
the wizard, after a minute's hesitation, rose and, 
walking a little apart, drew a circle in the sand. 
Standing here, he waved his wand slowly in the air 
and repeated a mystic incantation. The magician, 
who had only received the degree of P. M. (Pass- 
able Magician) when he graduated, looked on very 

At the most impressive part of the charm, the 
wizard suddenly and violently sneezed, in spite of 
all he could do. Much ashamed, he turned to ex- 
cuse himself. 

" Oh, that 's nothing," said the magician, with a 
condescending smile. "It is a little awkwardness 
natural to a beginner. No more than I expected ! 
Throwing your arms about creates a draft — makes 
you chilly; you sneeze, naturally enough. Go on ; 
we wont count this time." 

The wizard was much vexed, but kept his tem- 
per and resumed the charm. Soon, a mist poured 
from the tip of his wand, like the smoke from a 
cigar, and formed a cloud above his head, which 
slowly revolved and wound itself up into a ball 
until, as the chant ended, an enormous figure 
appeared. The wizard turned proudly to the ma- 
gician, who said nothing. At length the wizard. 




seeing no sign of movement in his rival, asked con- 
fidently : "How's that?" 

" Well," said the other, crossing his legs as he 
filled his pipe, "it isn't bad — not very bad. It 

The magician smiled, and rising, took a handful 
of dust and threw it over the wizard's head. 
" When are you to begin ? " asked the wizard. 
" Look around," said the magician. 


is really fail' work, of a certain kind. But it is n't 
the way / was taught. However, I 'm afraid of 
hurting your feelings." 

" Not at all," said the wizard. " I am delighted 
to be criticised. Speak freely, I beg ! " 

The old magician, with a bland smile and half- 
shut eyes, went on: "Well, it seems to me too 
long — much too long. If you were in a hurry, — 
suppose a rhinoceros was stamping his feet on 
your door-mat, — you would n't have time to do 
all that. That cloud is no use — it only spoils 
the effect ; it is out of style. And your spirit 
looks rather stupid and under-bred — an ugly 
wretch ! " 

A terrific howl was heard as the spirit dashed 
down upon the magician, seeking to tear him to 
pieces. The magician gently raised his wand, and 
the spirit melted as snow does into the ocean, 
and the magician went on quietly: "That shows 
you what a fool he is — no discretion and no 

The wizard was rather cast down and said sul- 
lenly: " Perhaps you will show me how you would 
do it?" 

The wizard turned and saw a little winged figure, 
looking like a fairy. 

" That is my spirit," said the magician. 

" It 's too small to be of any use," remarked the 
wizard, scornfully. 

" I think you will find it quite large enough for 
all practical purposes." 

"Why, my spirit," said the wizard, "could 
roll yours up like a dry leaf and put it in his 
pocket !" 

" Well," said the magician, good naturedly, " I 
have no objection to that ; let him try." 

The wizard pronounced the incantation and 
summoned his spirit. 

"Ahab," cried the wizard, calling the spirit by- 
name, "fetch me that small imp !" 

" Master, I obey ! " shouted the spirit in a voice 
of thunder, and then suddenly dashed down upon 
the little fairy. 

If the fairy had remained still it might have been 
hurt ; but, just as Ahab came rushing down, the 
fairy darted away like a humming-bird, too quick 
for the eye to see the motion. Ahab made a clutch, 
but caught nothing but sand. Again he tried, but 





with no better success. A third and fourth trial 
so exhausted the huge monster that he sat down 
upon the sand completely tired out. 

The wizard danced around in a perfect rage; 
and when Ahab gave it up, raising his wand he 
waved it thrice, and commanded the fairy to stand 
still. The fairy bowed, and stood quiet. 

" Now, Ahab," said the wizard, 
triumphantly, " bring her to me ! " 

Ahab arose, and walking heav- 
ily to the fairy, took her by the 
arm. The arm came off in his 
grasp ; but Ahab, not noticing 
this, brought it to the wizard. 

" You dunce ! " commenced the 
wizard ; but the absurdity of the 
situation overcame him, and he 
laughed, saying: "Well, bring me 
the rest of her ! " 

On the next trip, Ahab brought 
the head. 

" Very good," said the wizard ; 
" perseverance will bring her. Go 

In a few more journeys the pieces 
of the fairy lay at the wizard's feet. 

"There!" said the wizard, in 
triumph, " I think that ends your 
spirit ! " 

" Not at all," said the magician, 
pointing his wand at the heap of 
arms, wings, body, and head. In 
an instant the pieces flew together, 
and the fairy stood before them as 
well as ever. 

" Come now," said the wizard, 
angrily, " that 's not fair ! " 

" You had to help your spirit, 
why should n't I help mine? " 

" I only kept your spirit still ! " 

" I only put mine together ! " 

The wizard had to admit the 
justice of the magician's claim ; 
but, completely losing his temper, 
he said angrily: " I don't believe 
you are any sort of a magician, 
with all your airs ! You may have 
a friend among the fairies, but I 'd 
like to see what you can do by your- 
self; send your spirit away, and 
we '11 see who is the better man ! " 

The spirits were dismissed, and 
the magician, never losing his temper, said with a 
smile: "I can't afford to show my magic for 
nothing ! If you will insist on seeing what I can 
do in the way of real old Egyptian magic, I will 
show you, on one condition." 

" What is that? " 

" That he who shows the best magic shall take 
the wand and power of the other. Do you agree ? " 

The wizard, although startled, was too angry to 
be prudent, and replied boldly : " I agree ! " 

" Let us lose no time, then," said the magician, 
with a crafty smile. "Are you ready? " 


"Quite ready," said the wizard. 

" Find that, then ! " and, as he spoke, the 
magician threw his wand high into the air. An 
immense bird, that was flying overhead, clutched 
the wand, and flew off with lightning speed. 




"A baby's trick!" said the wizard, laughing. 
" I learned that with the alphabet. The idea of 
playing magical hide-and-seek with me ! " and 
breaking his wand into nine short pieces, he stuck 
them up in the sand, forming a circle around him. 
Out from each suddenly sprang a wire and stretched 
itself along above the sand, like a serpent, only a 
thousand times faster ; and down from this wire 
fell poles and stuck up in the sand. In the middle 
of the ring of sticks sat the wizard, with a tele- 
graph instrument, ticking away for dear life. In a 
moment he stopped and listened. An answering 
tick was soon heard ; and the wizard, smiling, 
said: "We shall have a dispatch very soon! 
Wonderful thing, the telegraph — wonderful ! " 

A speck was seen in the distance coming quickly 
toward them. It soon resolved itself into a small 
boy, running as fast as he could. 

"Well, my boy ?" said the wizard, rubbing his 
hands, as the messenger arrived. 

" Please, sir, here 's a package and a letter for 
you, sir," replied the boy, puffing a little from his 
run. " Please sign my receipt." 

" Certainly, certainly," said the wizard, scarcely 
hearing what was said ; and handing the package 
to the magician, he opened his letter. It read as 
follows : 

" Borneo, July 12th. 

" Your message received. Inclosed find wand as requested. Had 
to shoot bird. Sorry. Will have it stuffed. 

"Yours, Ahab. " 

The magician opened the package, and there was 
the wand. 

" You are a little behind the age," said the 
wizard. " I should think you would know better 
than to race with electricity ! " 

'■ You really did it very well, very well, indeed," 
said the magician, a little vexed ; " but, as you say, 
it was a baby's trick; I was foolish to try it." 

" Well," said the wizard, "let us not waste any 
more time. Do your very best this time, and let us 
get through with it ! " 

" Please, sir," said the telegraph messenger, 
"sign my receipt; I 'm in a hurry." 

"Get out! I can't bother with you now !" said 
the wizard, impatiently. " The idea," he went on, 
to the magician, " of stopping me now for such a 
trifle as signing a receipt ! " 

The boy laughed softly to himself, but no one 
noticed him, so he stood and watched what was 
going on. 

Meanwhile, the magician was thinking over his 
very best tricks. At last he said, solemnly : " This 
time I '11 show you something worth seeing ! " 

Then he wiped his wand in the skirt of his robe, 
and pronounced a long incantation, while the 
wizard pretended to be very tired of it. As the 

incantation proceeded, a crystal ball formed itself 
out of the airand floated before them. 

" What 's that for?" asked the boy, apparently 
much interested. " That 's the biggest marble I 
ever saw ! " 

"That," said the magician with great impres- 
siveness, not noticing who spoke. " is the magi- 
cian-tester. Merlin invented it for the express 
purpose of putting down conceited magicians. Such 
is its peculiar construction that only the greatest 
and most powerful magician can get inside of it." 

" Get into that marble ! " said the boy. " I don't 
see what for." 

" Probably not," said the magician, much 

" Now see here, Johnny," said the wizard, impa- 
tiently, "don't you think you 'd better run home ? " 

"I must have my receipt signed," said the 
boy, positively ; "besides, it 's fun to see this game." 

" Never mind him," said the magician. " Now, 
what I propose is this: You and I stand about 
twenty paces from the tester ; then let the boy 
count three (for, while you pay for his time, we 
may as well use him). Whoever first appears in 
the tester shall be the winner." 

"Am I in this?" asked the boy, much de- 

"Certainly," said the magician, smiling gra- 

"Let 's see if I know the game," said the boy, 
eagerly. "You two fellows stand a little way off, 
then I count three, and you two cut as fast as you 
can for the marble ; and then whoever of us three 
gets into it first wins ? " 

The magician was much amused to see that the 
boy included himself in the " game," and replied: 
" Well, yes ; that 's the game. There can be no 
harm in your trying." 

" What 's the use of talking nonsense to the 
boy ? " asked the wizard. 

" Oh, it amuses him and does n't hurt us," replied 
the magician, good naturedly. 

" Get your places ! " called the boy, who seemed 
to enjoy the game very much. 

They retired in opposite directions, while the 
boy also' went back some distance. 

" All ready?" cried the magician. 

" Hold on," said the boy, suddenly ; " I 'm not 
half so big as you two — I ought to have a start ! " 

The wizard was much provoked at the delay, but 
the magician said, laughing : " All right, my boy ; 
take any start you like, but hurry." 

The boy took a few steps, carefully compared 
the distances, and took a step or two more. He 
seemed very much excited. 

" Is that about right ? " he asked. 

" Yes, yes; do hurry up ! " said the wizard. 


I I I 

"Are you ready?" 
said the boy. 

" Yes ! "they replied. 

" One — two — three ! " 
shouted the boy, and off 
he went as fast as his 
short legs could carry 
him. The wizard and 
magician, starting at the 
same instant, ran with 
very great speed, and 
reached the tester on op- 
posite sides at about the 
same time. Both did 
their best to get inside ; 
but it was no use. Each 
turned away, thinking 
himself defeated. In 
turning from the tester, 
they met. 

" Hallo ! " cried the 
magician, " I thought 
you were inside the 
tester ! " 

" And I thought you 
were !" said the wizard, equally surprised. 

"Well, what means this?" asked the magician. 

"I can't tell," replied the wizard; "I did n't 
make the tester ; there 
must have been some 

" Oh, no ; it 's all 
right," said the magi- 
cian ; " we must try 
again. Where 's the 
boy ? " 

" Here I am ! " said 
the boy's voice. 

"Where ?" they ask- 
ed, not able to see him. 

" In the marble ! " 
said the boy. "I 've 
won ! " 

There was no mistake. 
They could both see him, 
coiled up in the tester 
and grinning with de- 

" This is too ridicu- 
lous ! " said the magi- 
cian. " Come out of 
that, you little mon- 
key ! "' 

" I sha n't," said the 
boy, clapping his hands 
with glee. " I 've won, and 

"You sha'n't have anything but a ™od thrash- 


ing ! " said the wizard, and catching up his wand 
he rushed toward the tester. 

But at that moment, a crack was heard. The. 


'm to have the prize 

tester broke like a bubble, and forth from it 
the majestic figure of the enchanter Merlin. 

I I 2 



The wizard and magician fell upon their knees. 

" It is Merlin ! " they cried. 

"Yes," replied the enchanter, gravely, "it is 
Merlin. When a wizard and magician spend their 
mighty powers in juggling tricks fit only to amuse 
fools, those powers must be taken from them. 
You have made the agreement and must abide by 
it. Drop your wands ! " 

The wands fell upon the sand. 

" Go home, and work ! " 

They went home and worked, and neither of 
them married a princess or lived happily ever 

Merlin laughed softly to himself, and remarking, 
"There's a couple of dunces!" changed himself 
back into a messenger-boy, signed his receipt him- 
self, and walked away over the desert. Soon he 
disappeared over the horizon, and all was still. 

THEY put me in the great spare bed, and there they bade me sleep : 
I must not stir ; I must not wake ; I must not even peep ! 
Right opposite that lonely bed, my Christmas stocking hung ; 
While near it, waiting for the morn, my Sunday clothes were flung. 

I counted softly, to myself, to ten, and ten times ten. 

And went through all the alphabet, and then began again ; 

I repeated that Fifth Reader piece — a poem called "Repose," 

And tried a dozen other ways to fall into a doze — 

When suddenly the room grew light. I heard a soft, strong bound — 

'T was Santa Claus, I felt quite sure, but dared not look around. 

'T was nice to know that he was there, and things were going rightly, 

And so I took a little nap, and tried to smile politely. 

"Ho! Merry Christmas!" cried a voice; I felt the bed a-rocking; 

'T was daylight — Brother Bob was up ! and oh, that splendid stocking ! 





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Vol. XL— 





(Begun on page 25 of the November number, t 

By Louisa m. Alcott. 

PARI 111. 

December snow was 
falling fast and the 
wintry wind whis- 
tled through the 
streets, but it was 
warm and cozy in 
the luxurious par- 
lor where Di and 
Do were sitting 
making Christmas 
presents, and plan- 
ning what they 
would wear at the party Fanny was to 
give on Christmas Eve. 

" If I can get Mamma to buy me a 
new dress I shall have something yel- 
low. It is always becoming to bru- 
nettes, and I 'm so tired of red," said 
Di, giving a last touch to the lace that 
trimmed a blue satin sachet for Fanny. 

"That will be lovely. I shall have 
pink, with roses of the same color. Un- 
der muslin it is perfectly sweet." And 
Dora eyed the sunflower she was 
« embroidering as if she already saw 
d.5 the new toilet before her. 

"Fan always wears blue, so we 
shall make a nice contrast. She is 
coming over to show me about finish- 
ing off my banner-screen, and I asked 
Sophie to come with her. I want to 
know what she is going to wear," said 
Di, taking a little sniff at the violet- 
scented bag. 

"That old white cashmere. Just 
think ! I asked her why she did n't get 
a new one, and she laughed and said she could n't 
afford it. Fan told me Sophie's father sent her a 
hundred dollars not long ago, yet she has n't got a 
thing that we know of. I do think she 's mean." 

" She bought a great bundle of books. I was 
there when the parcel came, and I peeped while she 
was out of the room, because she put it away in a 
great hurry. I 'm afraid she is mean, for she 
never buys a bit of candy, and she wears shabby 
boots and gloves, and she has made over her old 
hat instead of having that lovely one with the 
pheasant's breast in it." 

" She 's very queer; but I can't help liking her, 

she 's so pretty and bright and obliging. I 'd give 
anything if 1 could speak three languages and 
play as she does." 

" So would I. It seems so elegant to be able 
to talk to foreigners. Papa had some Frenchmen 
to dinner the other day, and they were so pleased 
to find they need n't speak English to Sophie. I 
could n't get on at all, and I was so mortified when 
Papa said all the money he had spent on my lan- 
guages was thrown away." 

" I would n't mind. It 's so much easier to 
learn those things abroad, she would be a goose 
if she did n't speak French better than we do. 
There 's Fan ! she looks as if something had hap- 
pened. I hope no one is ill and the party spoilt." 

As Dora spoke, both girls looked out to see 
Fanny shaking the snow from her seal-skin sack 
on the doorstep ; then Do hastened to meet her, 
while Di hid the sachet and was hard at work 
on an old-gold sofa cushion when the new-comer 

" What's the matter? Where 's Sophie?" ex- 
claimed the girls together as Fan threw off her 
wraps and sat down with a tragic sigh. 

"She will be along in a few minutes. I 'm dis- 
appointed in her ! I would n't have believed it if 
I had n't seen them. Promise not to breathe a 
word to a living soul and I '11 tell you something 
dreadful," began Fanny, in a tone that caused her 
friends to drop their work and draw their chairs 
nearer as they solemnly vowed eternal silence. 

" I 've seen Sophie's Christmas presents — all 
but mine, and they are just nothing at all ! She 
has n't bought a thing, not even ribbons, lace, 
or silk to make up prettily as we do. Only a 
painted shell for one, an acorn emery for another, 
her ivory fan with a new tassel for a third, and I 
suspect one of those nice handkerchiefs embroid- 
ered by the nuns for me, or her silver filigree neck- 
lace. I saw the box in the drawer with the other 
things. She 's knit woolen cuffs and tippets for 
the children, and got some eight-cent calico gowns 
for the servants. I don't know how people do 
things in Switzerland, but I do know that if / had 
a hundred dollars in my pocket, I would be more 
generous than that ! " • 

As Fanny paused, out of breath, Di and Do 
groaned in sympathy, for this was indeed a sad 
state of things; because the girls had a code that 
Christmas being the season for gifts, extravagance 
would be forgiven then as at no other time. 

t88 3 .] 



" I have a lovely smelling-bottle for her, but 
I've a great mind not to give it now," cried Di, 
feeling defrauded of the bracelet she had plainly 
hinted she would like. 

"I shall heap coals of fire on her head by giving 
her thai" and Dora displayed a very useless but 
very pretty apron of muslin lace and carnation 

'"It isn't the worth of the things; 1 don't care 
for that so much as I do for being disappointed in 
her, and I have been lately in more ways than 
one," said Fanny, listlessly taking up the screen 
she was to finish. " She used to tell me every- 
thing, and now she does n't. I 'm sure she has 
some sort of a secret, and 1 do think / ought to 
know it. I found her smiling over a letter one 
day, and she whisked it into her pocket and never 
said a word about it. I always stood by her and I 
do feel hurt." 

" I should think you might ! It 's real naughty 
of her, and I shall tell her so ! Perhaps she '11 
confide in you then, and you can just give mc a 
hint ; I always liked Sophie, and never thought of 
not giving my present," said Dora, persuasively, 
for both girls were now dying with curiosity to 
know the secret. 

" I '11 have it out of her, without any dodging 
or bribing. I 'm not afraid of any one, and 1 shall 
ask her straight out, no matter how much she 
scowls at me," said dauntless Di, with a threaten- 
ing nod. 

"There she is! Let us see you do it now!" 
cried Fanny, as the bell rang, and a clear voice 
was heard a moment later asking if Mademoiselle 
was in. 

"You shall!" and Di looked ready for any 

" I '11 wager a box of candy that you don't find 
out a thing," whispered Do. 

" Done ! " answered Di, and then turned to 
meet Sophie, who came in looking as fresh as an 
Alpine rose with the wintry wind. 

" You dear thing ! we were just talking of you. 
Sit here and get warm, and let us show you our 
gifts. We are almost done, but it seems as if it 
got to be a harder job each Christmas. Don't you 
find it so ? " 

" But no ; I think it the most charming work of 
all the year," answered Sophie, greeting her friend, 
and putting her well-worn boots toward the fire to 

" Perhaps you don't make as much of Christmas 
as we do, or give such expensive presents. That 
would make a great difference, you know," said 
Di, as she lifted a cloth from the table where her 
own generous store of gifts was set forth. 

"I had a piano last year, a set of jewels, and 

many pretty trifles from all at home. Here is one ; " 
and pulling the fine gold chain hidden under her 
frills, Sophie showed a locket set thick with pearls, 
containing a picture of her mother. 

" It must be so nice to be rich, and able to make 
such fine presents. I 've got something for you, 
but I shall be ashamed of it after I see your gift to 
me, I 'm afraid." 

Fan and Dora were working as if their bread 
depended on it, while Di, with a naughty twinkle 
in her eye, affected to be re-arranging her pretty 
table as she talked. 

"Do not fear that; my gifts this year are very 
simple ones. I did not know your custom, and 
now it is too late. My comfort is, that you need 
nothing, and, having so much, you will not care 
for my — what you call — coming short." 

Was it the fire that made Sophie's face look so 
hot, and a cold that gave a husky sort of tone to 
her usually clear voice ? A curious expression came 
into her face as her eyes roved from the table to the 
gay trifles in her friend's hands, and she opened 
her lips as if to add something impulsively. But 
nothing came, and for a moment she looked straight 
out at the storm as if she had forgotten where she 

" ' Short-coming' is the proper way to speak it. 
But never mind that, and tell me why you say ' too 
late ' ? " asked Di, bent on winning her wager. 

" Christmas comes in three days, and I have no 
time," began Sophie. 

" But with money, one can buy plenty of lovely 
things in one day," said Di. 

"No, it is better to put a little love and hard 
work into what we give to friends. I have done 
that with my trifles, and another year I shall be 
more ready." 

There was an uncomfortable pause, for Sophie 
did not speak with her usual frankness, but looked 
both proud and ashamed, and seemed anxious to 
change the subject, as she began to admire Dora's 
work, which had made very little progress during 
the last fifteen minutes. 

Fanny glanced at Di with a smile that made the 
other toss her head and return to the charge with 
renewed vigor. 

" Sophie, will you do me a favor?" 

" With much pleasure." 

"Fan has promised me a whole box of French 
bonbons, and if you will answer three questions 
you shall have it." 

"Allans," said Sophie, smiling. 

" Have n't you a secret? " asked Di, gravely. 

" Yes." 

" Will vou tell us ? " 


Di paused before she asked her last question, 




and Fan and Dora waited breathlessly, while Sophie 
knit her brows and looked uneasy. 

"Why not?" 

" Because I do not wish to tell it." 

" Will you tell if we guess?" 


" You are engaged." 

At this absurd suggestion Sophie laughed gayly, 
and shook her curly head. 

"Do you think we are betrothed at sixteen in 
my country? " 

ing .to hear love stories. What is his. name?" 
cried Dora. 

"Hermann," simpered Sophie, drooping still 
more, while her lips trembled with suppressed 
emotion of some sort. 

"How lovely!" sighed Fanny, who was very 

" Tell on, do ! Is he handsome ?" 

" To me the finest man in all the world," con- 
fessed Sophie as she hid her face. 

" And you love him ? " 

" I adore him ! " and Sophie clasped her hands 


such a time about it when you lost it in the water, 
and cried for joy when Tilly dived and found it." 

" Ah, yes, I was truly glad. Dear Tilly, never 
do I forget that kindness ! " and Sophie kissed the 
little pearl ring in her impulsive way, while her 
eyes sparkled and the frown vanished. 

" I know a sweetheart gave it," insisted Di, sure 
now she had found a clew to the secret. 

" He did," and Sophie hung her head in a 
sentimental way that made the three girls crowd 
nearer with faces full of interest. 

" Do tell us all about it, dear. It 's so interest- 

so dramatically that the girls were a little startled, 
yet charmed at this discovery. 

" Have you his picture?" asked Di, feeling that 
she had won her wager now. 

" Yes." and pulling out the locket again, Sophie 
showed in the other side the face of a fine old 
gentleman who looked very like herself. 

"It's your father!" exclaimed Fanny, rolling 
her blue eyes excitedly. "You are a humbug!" 
cried Dora. " Then you fibbed about the ring," 
said Di, crossly. 

" Never ! It is Mamma's betrothal ring, but her 




finger grew too plump, and when I left home she 
gave the ring to me as a charm to keep me -safe. 
Ah, ha ! I have my little joke as well as you, and 
the laugh is for me this time." And falling back 
among the sofa cushions, Sophie enjoyed it as only 
a gay girl could. Do and Fanny joined her, but 
Di was much disgusted, and vowed she would dis- 
cover the secret and keep all the bonbons to herself. 

" You are most welcome, but I will not tell until 
I like, and then to Fanny first. She will not have 
ridicule for what I do, but say it is well, and be 
glad with me. Come now and work. I will plait 
these ribbons, or paint a wild rose on this pretty 
fan. It is too plain now. Will you that I do it, 
dear Di ? " 

The kind tone and the prospect of such an 
ornament to her gift appeased Di somewhat, but 
the mirthful malice in Sophie's eyes made the 
other more than ever determined to be even with 
her by and by. 

Christmas Eve came and found Di still in the 
dark, which fact nettled her sadly, for Sophie tor- 
mented her and amused the other girls by pre- 
tended confidences and dark hints at the mystery 
which might never, never be disclosed. 

Fan had determined to have an unusually jolly 
party, so she invited only her chosen friends, and 
opened the festivities with a Christmas-tree as the 
prettiest way of exchanging gifts and providing 
jokes for the evening in the shape of delusive 
bottles, animals full of candy, and every sort of 
musical instrument to be used in an impromptu 
concert afterward. The presents to one another 
were done up in secure parcels, so that they might 
burst upon the public eye in all their freshness. 
Di was very curious to know what Fan was going 
to give her, for Fanny was a generous creature and 
loved to give. Di was a little jealous of her love 
for Sophie, and could n't rest till she discovered 
which was to get the finer gift. 

So she went early and slipped into the room 
where the tree stood, to peep and pick a bit as 
well as to hang up a few trifles of her own. She 
guessed several things by feeling the parcels; but 
one excited her curiosity intensely, and she could 
not resist turning it about and pulling up one 
corner of the lid. It was a flat box, prettily orna- 
mented with sea-weeds like red lace, and tied with 
scarlet ribbons. A tantalizing glimpse of jeweler's 
cotton, gold clasps, and .something rose-colored 
conquered Di's last scruples, and she was just 
about to untie the ribbons when she heard Fanny's 
voice, and had only time to replace the box, pick 
up a paper that had fallen out of' it, and fly up the 
back-stairs to the dressing-room, where she found 
Sophie and Dora surveying one another as girls 
always do before they go down. 

"You look like a daisy," cried Di, admiring 
Dora with great interest because she felt ashamed 
of her prying and the stolen note in her pocket. 

"And you like a dandelion," returned Do, fall- 
ing back a step to get a good view of Di's gold- 
colored dress and black velvet bows. 

" Sophie is a lily of the valley, all in green and 
white," added Fanny, coming in with her own blue 
skirts waving in the breeze. 

" It does me very well. Little girls do not need 
grand toilets, and I am fine enough for a ' peas- 
ant,' " laughed Sophie, as she settled the fresh 
ribbons on her simple white cashmere and the 
holly wreath. in her brown hair, but secretly long- 
ing for the fine dress she might have had. 

" Why did n't you wear your silver necklace ? It 
would be lovely on your pretty neck," said Di, 
longing to know if she had given the trinket away. 

But Sophie was not to be caught, and said, with 
a contented smile : " I do not care for ornaments, 
unless some one I love gives me them. I had red 
roses for my bouquet de corsage; but the poor 
Madame Page was so triste, I left them on her 
table to remember her of me. It seemed so heart- 
less to go and dance while she had only pain, but 
she wished it." 

" Dear little Sophie, how good you are ! " and 
warm-hearted Fan kissed the blooming face that 
needed no roses to make it sweet and gay. 

Half an hour later, twenty girls and boys were 
dancing round the brilliant tree. Then its boughs 
were stripped. Every one seemed contented ; 
even Sophie's little gifts gave pleasure, because 
with each went a merry or affectionate verse, which 
made great fun on being read aloud. She was 
quite loaded with pretty things, and had no words 
to express her gratitude and pleasure. 

"Ah, you are all so good to me ! and I have 
nothing beautiful for you. I receive much and 
give little, but I can not help it ! Wait a little and 
I will redeem myself," she said to Fanny, with 
eyes full of tears and a lap heaped with gay and 
useful things. 

"Never mind that now, but look at this, for 
here 's still another offering of friendship, and a 
very charming one, to judge by the outside," 
answered Fan, bringing the white box with the 
sea-weed ornaments. 

Sophie opened it, and cries of admiration fol- 
lowed, for lying on the soft cotton was a lovely set 
of coral. Rosy pink branches, highly polished, and 
fastened with gold clasps, formed necklace, brace- 
lets, and a spray for the bosom. Xo note or card 
appeared, and the girls crowded round to admire 
and wonder who could have sent so valuable a gift. 

"Can't you guess, Sophie ?" cried Dora, long- 
ing to own the pretty things. 




" I should believe I knew, but it is too costly. 
How came the parcel, Fan ? I think you must 
know all," and Sophie turned the box about, 
searching vainly for a name. 

"An expressman left it, and Jane took off the 
wet paper and put it on my table with the other 
things. Here's the wrapper — do you know that 
writing?" and Fan offered the brown paper which 
she had kept. 

" No ; and the label is all mud, so I can not see 
the place. Ah, well, I shall discover some day, 
but I should like to thank this generous friend at 
once. See now, how fine I am ! I do myself the 
honor to wear them at once." 

Smiling with girlish delight at her pretty orna- 
ments, Sophie clasped the bracelets on her round 
arms, the necklace about her white throat, and set 
the rosy spray in the lace on her bosom. Then 
she took a little dance down the room and found 
herself before Di, who was looking at her with an 
expression of naughty satisfaction on her face. 

"Don't you wish you knew who sent them?" 

" Indeed, yes; " and Sophie paused abruptly. 

" Well, / know, and / wont tell till I like. It 's 
my turn to have a secret, and I mean to keep it." 

"But it is not right," began Sophie, indignantly. 

" Tell me yours and I '11 tell mine," said Di, 

" I will not ! You have no right to touch my 
gifts, and I am sure you have done it, else how 
know you who sends this fine cadcaii?" cried 
Sophie, with the flash Di liked to see. 

Here Fanny interposed: " If you have any note 
or card belonging to Sophie, give it up at once. 
She shall not be tormented. Out with it, Di. I 
see your hand in your pocket, and I 'm sure you 
have been in mischief." 

"Take your old letter, then. I know what 's in 
it, and if I can't keep my secret for fun, Sophie 
shall not have hers. That Tilly sent the coral, 
and Sophie spent her hundred dollars in books and 
clothes for that queer girl, who 'd better stay among 
her lobsters than try to be a lady," cried Di, bent 
on telling all she knew, while Sophie was reading 
her letter eagerly. 

" Is it true ? " asked Dora, for the four girls were 
in a corner together, and the rest of the company 
busy pulling crackers. 

'■ |ust like her! I thought it was that, but she 
would n't tell. Tell us now, Sophie, for /think it was 
truly sweet and beautiful to help that poor girl, and 
let us say hard things of you," cried Fanny, as 
her friend looked up with a face and a heart too 
full of happiness to help overflowing into words. 

" Yes ; I will tell you now. It was foolish, per- 
haps, but I did not want to be praised, and 1 loved 

to help that good Tilly. You know she worked 
all summer and made a little sum. So glad, so 
proud she was, and planned to study that she 
might go to school this winter. Well, in October, 
the uncle fell very ill, and Tilly gave all her money 
for the doctors. The uncle had been kind to her, 
she did not forget ; she was glad to help, and told 
no one but me. Then I said, ' What better can 
I with my father's gift than give it to the dear 
creature, and let her lose no time? I do it; she 
will not at first, but I write and say, ' It must be,' 
and she submits. She is made neat with some little 
dresses, and she goes, at last, to be so happy and 
do so well that I am proud of her. Is not that 
better than fine toilets and rich gifts to those who 
need nothing? Truly, yes ! yet I confess it cost 
me pain to give up my plans for Christmas, and to 
seem selfish or ungrateful. Forgive me that." 

" Yes, indeed, you dear generous thing ! " cried 
Fan and Dora, touched by the truth. 

"But how came Tilly to send you such a splen- 
did present ?" asked Di. "Should n't think you'd 
like her to spend your money in such things." 

"She did not: a sea-captain, a friend of the 
uncle, gave her these lovely ornaments, and she 
sends them to me with a letter that is more precious 
than all the coral in the sea. I can not read it, but 
of all my gifts this is the dearest and the best ! " 

Sophie had spoken eagerly, and her face, her 
voice, her gestures made the little story eloquent ; 
but with the last words she clasped the letter to 
her bosom as if it well repaid her for all the sacri- 
fices she had made. They might seem small to 
others, but she was sensitive and proud, anxious 
to be loved in the strange country, and fond of 
giving ; so it cost her many tears to seem mean and 
thoughtless, to go poorly dressed, and be thought 
hardly of by those she wished to please. She 
did not like to tell of her own generosity, because 
it seemed like boasting, and she was not sure 
that it had been wise to give so much. Therefore, 
she waited to see if Tilly was worthy of the trust 
reposed in her, and she now found a balm for 
many wounds in the loving letter that came with 
the beautiful and unexpected gift. 

Di listened with hot cheeks, and when Sophie 
paused she whispered regretfully : 

"Forgive me, I was wrong! I'll keep your 
gift all my life to remember you by, for you arc 
the best and dearest girl I know." 

Then, with a hasty kiss, she ran away, carrying 
with great care the white shell on which Sophie 
had painted a dainty little picture of the mermaids 
waiting-for the pretty boat that brought good fort- 
une to poor Tilly, and this lesson to those who 
were hereafter her faithful friends. 



O.wha WDuldwalJ^alono demurs, 

Orwr|o would ride in $\afa ? 
J^jot anv of u^youTmay ke $uTe;Q^ 

f^oje 7fl seller 




By E. Vinton Blake. 

'T was brave Sir Athol of Balderstont 
Who rode by the woodside all alone ; 
All alone, in his armor dight, 
And he was a passing goodly knight. 

"Right heavy the grudge they bear to me, 
Though ever I greet them courteously ; 
But it shall not be said Sir Athol shrank 
From seven old men on a river bank." 

So then he bended his plumed head, 
And "Give ye good-morrow, sirs," he said. 
They looked and they smiled in evil wise, 
And scann'd Sir Athol with cunning eyes. 

It chanced as he rode, a harness clank The first was palsied, the second lame, 

Of riders came from the river bank ; And blind, deaf, halting, the others came ; 

He said to himself as he saw the first, On seven black mules in single rank 

"Now here be the Seven Wise Men of Hirst." They rode along on the river bank. 

, .. - 

fM -h- 

H ' "Id feSMii^ ,[ hk* 

"l III 


i88 3 .] 



In shrewish voices the knight they cursed — 
The wicked Seven Wise Men of Hirst; 
With wag of head and with wave of arm. 
They prophesied he would come to harm. 

1 Now fare ye well with your sorry cheer ; 
For what has a knight to do with fear?" 
And brave Sir Athol, no whit dismayed, 
Rode blithely down through the thicket's shade. 

And in at the. river's brink he rides, 
To find him a way through its foaming tides. 
But the furious stream's resistless force 
Bears down with the current man and horse. 

A drooping bough by an islet shore 
The brave Sir Athol at last upbore ; 

But, weighted down with his armor, sank 
The good roan steed by the island bank. 

And safely landed, the knight made moan : 
: I sore regret thee, my noble roan ; 
And how shall I from this islet's strand — 
All heavy-armor'd — achieve the land?" 

He scann'd the river both far and wide, 
But nothing of hope or help espied ; 
Then down on the sand his armor laid, 
And girt himself with his trusty blade. 

Then plunging into the sweeping tide 
He gained, exhausted, the other side; 
And all that night with a hermit 'bode 
In an ivied cell bv the river road. 




Full many a mile Sir Athol strode. 
And left behind him the river road ; 
And under an oak at night he slept, 
Till daylight over the mountains crept. 

But when he wakened, his purse was gone. 

His raiment tattered and all forlorn ; 

For mountain robbers had chanced, who 

And drugg'd and robbed him the while he 

slept ! 

Long on his borrowed garb gazed he. 
And thought of the Wise Men's prophecy; 
" But from causeless curses I Ye nought to 
And a better shield is a conscience clear." 

So brave Sir Athol of Balderstone 
Strode over the uplands all alone ; 
And as he strode, in his rags bedight, 
You scarce had thought him a goodly knight. 


And thirst and hunger endured he, 
And many a flout and contumely ; 

For many a day believed him none 
That he was Athol of Balderstone. 


I 2 3 

It chanced one day by a meadow side 
A field of tourney his eyes espied, 
And many a goodly dame and knight 
Was gather'd round it to see the fight. 

And crowds by crowds of the people press'd 
The banner'd lists for to greet the best; 
Since he who bravest of all might stand 
Should rule, the king of that fertile land. 

The noble tidings, when Athol heard. 
The soul of knighthood within him stirred 
' For love of all noble deeds," cried he, 
1 Is none who will horse and armor me? 

Then rocle Sir Athol of Balderstone, 

A happier man than he was none ; 

He into the heat of battle flew, 

And seventeen knights that day o'erthrew ; 




!!&-•' -rsfr<--' 

Then heard, as he paused, the greetings flung 
With cries and praises from every tongue; 
They bow'd to greet him with loud acclaim 
And gather'd round him and asked his name 

That night, in his palace chamber dim, 
The Wise Men's prophecy came to him : 
'T was only a road, — this toil and 

shame, — 
By which I into my kingdom came." 

And 1, — as I read my story back, — 
I wonder if o'er the self-same track. 
Like to King Athol, you and 1 
Will come to OUR kingdoms by and by. 



By Mrs. Lizzie W. Champney. 

A TINY gem on the beautiful belt of clustered 
country-seats, abbeys, chateaux, parks, villas, and 
charming suburban resorts that girdle Paris, there 
nestles a queer little village overflowing with chil- 
dren. They swarm in the court-yards, floating 
wooden shoes for boats in the water-tank. They 
sit contentedly on door-steps, plastering their faces 
with bread and jam. Their white caps make a 
dash of light above the scarlet geraniums which 
flame at the windows. They troop over the cobble- 
stone pavements, with a clatter like that of a pass- 
ing regiment. They buzz and hum in the school, 
defying the efforts of even the good curate to 
keep them in order. The)- skirmish over the fields 
and meadows, gathering bouquets of poppies, or 
raiding after fruit and birds' nests ; and they are to 
be seen in every glimpse which we catch of home 
interiors. Sometimes a sweet face is outlined 
against a great brass platter, like an angel head 
with its golden aureole, and again the sooty cavern 
of the chimney furnishes to another a Rembrandt- 
esquc background. 

Everywhere children ; with their dolls and carts, 
their little pet animals, their treasures of flowers 
and dainties, their pleasures of play, their little 
griefs and troubles. And such picturesque chil- 
dren, in peasant suits of blue petticoats with white 
sleeves and odd little caps and kerchiefs, and 
clumsy wooden shoes. " Pretty enough for a pict- 
ure ! " would be your exclamation, and the wisest 
art-lover would agree with you ; for since the time 
of Raphael, the greatest child-painter, artists have 
agreed that there is nothing more lovely on this 
beautiful earth than a sweet-faced boy or girl. 

And so you will not be surprised to learn that this 
village of Ecouen has become the haunt of artists, 
who go there not because of its fine scenery or 
architecture, but because a great painter was first 
attracted to the spot by these peasant babies, and 
made such charming pictures of them that the 
world cried out for more. 

When Edouard Frere first came 'to Ecouen the 
world did not call him a great painter. He was 
only a young art-student who had graduated at 
the Academy of Fine Arts in Paris, had been four 
years the pupil of the celebrated artist, Paul Dela- 
roche, and was gaining a slender livelihood as an 
illustrator. If he had had the means he might 
have gone to Rome to study, and have lost all 
originality in the mannerisms of the Italian school; 
but he was poor and in love, and looking about, 

among the many charming villages which cluster 
around Paris, for some cozy spot in which to build 
his home-nest where living would not be so dear 
as in the great city, he chanced upon this queer 
little nook. 

I have no doubt that his bride's relations pitied 
poor Gabrielle, and thought of her as buried alive 
in this obscure country place. But Gabrielle had 
the keen insight and foresight of a loving woman. 
She could see genius, in this gentle-mannered 
youth, which as yet no one else could see, and to 
her all the long years which lay between them and 
recognition were as nothing for the love which she 
bore him. 

For a time after their coming to Ecouen, Edou- 
ard Frere continued his work as an illustrator. But 
this did not satisfy him. He had a true artist's 
love for color, and when not busied with his black- 
and-white drawings he made little paintings of the 
Ecouen babies and pinned them to the walls of his 
studio. The children learned to love him and 
kept on with their little games when he was near, 
for they knew that Monsieur Frere was interested 
in their play, and liked to snare birds and play at 
soldier, and watch the little girls nurse their hide- 
ous dolls, as much as if he were himself a child. 
He had such a sympathetic, kindly manner, that 
the>- were never afraid to trust their secrets with 
him, to show him the white rabbit's little bunnies, 
or to ask him to set the leg of their tame crow. 
He knew each child by name, and sometimes on 
his sketches names are to be found noted under 
the figures. As the villagers gathered around his 
easel when he painted in the open air, or now and 
then paid a reverent visit to his studio and scanned 
the sketches on the wall, they would pick out their 
friends and acquaintances from the pictured groups 
with many an exclamation of delight. 

" See ! " they would exclaim; before a painting 
representing boys coasting, "there is Toupet 
scratching up snow with his hands. Ernest Joly 
has fallen, the awkward one ! " 

"And here are the three Arnoux, hugging 
each other tight, and sliding down hill upon one 
small sled. Ah ! it is so in life ; if brothers are 
rich and live in a wide house, then they can 
quarrel politely, and stand aloof from one an- 
other like gentlemen ; but when quarters are nar- 
row, then there is the more need for affectionate 

" Hold — Sainte Beuve and Vvon have tumbled 

I 26 



together ! That is good. If one must be down 
in the world, it is more endurable if you have good 

"Look, there is Donat, the dandy; how proud 
he is of his new hat ! He must needs be painted 
in it before the boys had spoiled the shape for 
him, and now all the world will imagine that he 
wears a hat like that every day of his life — the 
pretender ! " 

And so the villagers would rattle on, almost 
without cessation. 

Edouard Frere did not try to invent pictures, but 
took just such as he found, not fancying that any 
one else would care greatly for them, but painting 
them because they appealed to him. He soon 
found that these young faces were not all joyous ; 
some were pinched and pale with hunger, or 
drawn with pain, and often the eyes had the wist- 
ful, patient look that belongs to the poor. The 
parents were hard-worked, poorly paid men and 
women, who toiled all day in the fields, and either 
became brutalized and hard of heart and life, or 
faded away and died under their cruel lot. Millet, 
the great French painter, himself a peasant, saw 
all the pathos in these lives of labor and endur- 
ance, and a little later touching]}' interpreted it 
for the world. But no one at this time painted 
peasants, and even Millet did not care greatly for 
the children. Edouard Frere alone seemed to rec- 
ognize and appreciate the beauty of their simple 
pleasures, their little deeds of self-denial and 
kindness, and the brave 
helpfulness, the grate- 
ful content and 
love, with 
which a little 
child graces 

He was 
twenty -nine 
years old 
when his wife 
him that the 
great world might 
care for these little 
pictures of child-life, and 
induced him to exhibit 
seven tiny canvases at 
the Salon. The Salon 
is the yearly exhibition 
of pictures at Paris, many times larger than the 
exhibition of our National Academy in New York, 
and though thirty-four apartments open into each 
other, and the pictures are hung so closely that 
the frames touch from wainscot to ceiling, giving 
space for from two to three thousand canvases, there 

I'AGE 130.) 

are yet so many painters in F'rance and in other 
countries who send to the Salon that thousands 
of pictures are always rejected. A committee of 
artists view the paintings sent, and only the best 
are accepted. It is always a great event in a 
young artist's life when his first picture is hung at 
the Salon. We can- imagine that Edouard Frere 
and his young wife were very anxious to hear the 
decision of the committee in regard to the seven 
little pictures. Many times the artist must have 
regretted sending them — it would be such a disap- 
pointment and disgrace to be refused. Madame 
Gabrielle must have been in a fever of impa- 
tience, for she. at least, had no doubt of their 

And they were accepted, well hung, and com- 
manded attention. Eminent critics paused, pencil 
in hand, before them. Young mothers grasped 
their husbands' arms to have them notice how like 
little Annette, or Jean, or Francois, this child was. 
And the committee of awards made a note of the 
name of Edouard Frere as that of a new man of 
surprising originality, whose career must be fol- 
lowed. French artists hitherto had not dared to 
paint real country folk ; their peasants were mas- 
querade shepherds and shepherdesses of the thea- 
ter, dressed in pink-and-blue satin, with powdered 
hair and ribboned crooks. But here was a young 
man who had actually found sentiment and beauty 
in the every-day life of the poor, in their worn 
and tattered clothing, with all its pitiful story of 
privation and suffering, in the brave cheerfulness 
with which the young faces uncomplainingly met 
their tasks, and found pleasure in toil. He had 
touched the commonplace with something of the 
radiance which a carpenter's son shed upon it 
when he dwelt, long ago, among the peasants of 

Four years later the Salon awarded him a medal, 
— a wonderful success for a man hitherto entirely 
unknown to the art world, — and at the Exposition 
of 1S55 he was made Chevalier of the Legion of 
Honor. Then Monsieur Gambart, of Brussels, one 
of the great picture dealers who tell the rich people 
all over the world whose paintings are the only 
proper ones to be bought, packed his portmanteau 
and hurried to Ecouen to inquire where Edouard 
Frere lived. Every child in the village street lifted 
up his hand to point and his voice to shout: "There 
— there, over yonder, is our good little Papa Frere ; " 
and preceded by an advance guard and followed 
by a retinue of young models, the capitalist entered 
Monsieur Frere's studio, bringing the lady Fort- 
une with him. 

Success had come to him in early middle life, 
while there were still long years before him in 
which to enjoy all the good things of the world. 



He could make his residence where he chose ; 

could study the masterpieces of Italy as he had 

longed to do as a young man ; could 

\ ' join his brother, who was painting the 

\ ' glowing skies and warm colors of the 

Orient, then so much in vogue ; could 

be one of the centers of social life in 

'., j'i gay Paris. But he had grown attached 


to Ecouen - . . .;• 

and to the 

children, and he 

kept on painting 

them until they grew to men and women, and in 

their turn led their children by the hand to pose 

for " Papa Frcrc." 

Aimee, who was one of his early models, has 
been bonne, or maid, in the family for over twenty- 
five years. She is drill-master and nursery-maid 
for the children who pose, and is a great institu- 

tion. She goes for the children and returns them; 
keeps a mental inventory of ages, sizes, types, and 
can tell Monsieur , Frere on the instant just 
what child he 1 ought to have for a required 
action. "Let us 1 see, my good Aimee," says 
the artist, at the j end of one day's work, " to- 
morrow I begin a new picture. I remember 
long ago seeing Rosalie Seignac gcttingdin- 

ner for her sick 
mother, with the 
1 aid of her little 
! brother. It was a 
• I pretty picture. I 
j said when I saw 
it, I must paint 
j that. But Rosalie 
has grown into a 
■ tall young wom- 
an now, and her 
brother is with 
the angels. Seek 
a little, whom 
shall we get to pose for 
the figures? WillFifine 
do for one ? " 
Aimee purses her lips 
and rolls the corner of her 
apron. " Monsieur for- 
gets — that girl grows like 
a squash-vine ; she is fifty 
centimeters too tall." 
"Elise, then? " 
"Elise is engaged to 
: ' sit for Monsieur Chi- 
' aliva's turkey pict- 

" How would An- 
nette do? " 

"Annette is 
too fat : Clarice 
is never 
;' ~ - - still, she is 
■ . _ " as restless 
as the vane 
on the chim- 
ney ; Marie 
is sulky ; Ba- 
bette has the chicken-pox ; 
Jeanne has gone to Ezan- 

PENCII^SKETCH BY I. W. CHAMPNEV.) " ... .„. . , , 

vale. 1 here is no one but 
Angelique, and she is freckled and red-headed." 

" She will do nicely. I can leave the freckles 
out, and her hair is just the thing. For the boy, 
I suppose we must take Amedee." 

"Amedee is too mischievous; I had the trouble 
of a lost soul to keep him away from the strawberry 
beds. Baptiste. now, would be better behaved." 




"■ He is a homely little fellow; I do not think 1 
could use him. What has become of that little 
Henri La Fontaine, with the blonde curls ? " 

" His mother has had them cut since the hot 
weather; besides, he has the mumps in both 
cheeks. However, I will get him if Monsieur 

" Certainly not ; but tell me whom I ought to 
have ? " 

" Narcisse might do, if I could keep him awake. 
(That child would sleep if the Prussians bombarded 
the chateau !) Quentin is a little runaway; when 
he sees me coming he makes straight for the forest, 
where no one can lay a hand on him. Emile is in 
school; he is a good student, and his mother will 
not let him pose except on Saturdays. Maurice is 
beautiful as an angel, but shy as a rabbit, and he 
weeps if one but looks at him. If Monsieur should 
tell him to hold the soup-ladle he would faint with 
fright. Anethol is a gourmand ; if he is desired, 
I must fry a whole kettle of merveilles,* and he will 
eat them every one." 

"Can you not overcome Maurice's timidity? 
Surely I have not the reputation of an ogre." 

"No, Monsieur, it is because you are so good 
and great in his eyes ; it is the reverence for a 
saint. To speak with you is almost to him as if 
the picture of the Cardinal Odet de Coligny on the 
church window should step smilingly down toward 
us ! Surely then we should all faint with terror." 

" Perhaps if I should play a game of marbles 
with him, he would feel less of awe." 

"Monsieur must not so trouble himself. The 
child is fond of fairy stories ; I will tell them while 
he is posing, and distract his mind." 

No matter how many children figure in his pict- 
ure, Monsieur Frere requires to see them all in 
their proper positions, in order to relate them one 
to the other. Aimee keeps the battalion in order ; 
now and then they are allowed to run out to play, 
and she watches that they do no mischief. She 
washes their faces, arranges their hair, costumes 
them, comforts the homesick, encourages with 
candy, or punishes the refractory, deals out the 
copper sous with which they are paid at the end 
of the sitting, and carries a report to the parents 
of their behavior. The lazy straighten up and 
take better positions when they hear the crackle 
of her stiffly starched petticoats, and the woe-be- 
gonc, half-starved children of the drunkard know 
that between their tasks Aimee will take them to 
the kitchen and feed them until they can eat no 

What wonder that Aimee fancies that much of 
the credit for the success of these pictures belongs 
rightly to her — since all that Monseiur does is to 
spread the paint on the canvas ? 

* A kind of pasty. 

Edouard Frere now lives in a handsome little 
chateau in the center of an extensive park, which 
contains many interesting rooms, a grand studio, 
a library, a parlor that is a picture gallery of the 
works of other French artists, which have been 
presented to him or to Madame Frere ; other apart- 
ments rich in bronzes, in water-colors, and hand- 
some furniture. But secluded from the rest is 
Madame Frere's boudoir, which is perhaps the 
heart of the 'house. The furniture here is uphol- 
stered with embroidery by the hand of the mistress 
of the house, rich in color, but of bewildering de- 
sign — labyrinthine tracery which you fancy must 
mean something if you could only find the key to 
the combination. Madame Frere calls it vitrauz 
d'e'glise,* from its resemblance to shattered stained 
glass. She has worked the many strips that com- 
pose the furnishing of this room through the long 
years that stretch between her present and those 
early days in Ecouen. How many loving thoughts 
have slipped in with the threads of rose, how many 
ambitious hopes have followed those ciphers in royal 
purple. Here is a crimson cartouche ; perhaps it 
is the record of the coming of the red ribbon 
which marks her husband a Chevalier d'Honneur; 
and there is a tiny white cross that may tell the 
giving to God of their baby. On the wall hang 
thirty or forty engravings from M. Frere's pictures. 
Here we have a history of his work during all 
these busy, patient years. Here is "The Little 
Flute-player," with its companion piece of a tall 
boy, almost embracing a sturdy little fellow in 
his efforts to teach him to drum. Here are three 
pictures of boys snaring snow-birds : the first rep- 
resents the repressed excitement with which the 
children watch the birds' survey of the trap, anx- 
iously asking, "Will he be caught ?" In the second 
" He is caught ! " and the children are enjoying a 
brief moment of triumph ; but there is many a 
slip 'twixt the trap and the cage, and in the third 
scene " He has escaped ! " and the children stretch 
their hands in vain after the fugitive. Another 
well-known and charming subject which we find 
here is a wee tot gravel)- etching a picture with a 
forefinger through the molasses which covers her 
bread and butter. Here, too, are the little boy and 
girl who are carefully dosing a sick doll. The lad 
plays the doctor very gravely, while the deep solici- 
tude of the child's mamma is not all make-believe. 
This is the picture which gained Edouard Frere 
his first medal. Here a young girl stands upon a 
chair in front of a fire-place to twine a rosary about 
a crucifix. There is a thoughtful sadness in her 
face. Is she thinking of Monsieur le Cure's words, 
" Woman's lot is to love, to suffer, to pray" ? 

School pictures are evident favorites. In one, 
two faithful scholars plod through the wet, their 

* Church-glass — meaning, stained-glass window. 


I2 9 

i ' 

Vol. XI.— 9. 





torn umbrella resolutely set against the driving narrow staircase, come " bounding out of school," 
storm, while in the " Sortie d'Ecole "(" The Sor- full of frolic and the happy spirit of play-time, and as 
tie from School ") the children, trooping down the if glad, one and all, to get into the sunshine again. 

• , " 




The weary seamstresses toiling in the next pict- 
ure in their dormered attic remind one of Millet's 
hopeless peasants ; and so the subjects run, alter- 
nating pathos with glee, and each treated with 
such tenderness that the simple stories never fail 
to touch the fancy and the heart. 

Quite a colon) of artists have gathered in Ecouen 
about this great painter, and so fatherly and kindly 
is he to all that he is usually spoken of by them by 
the name which the peasant children first gave him 
— " Papa Frere." He is a small man, of delicate 
frame and fine proportions, but big and burly men 
have learned to look down with a respect which is 

old bodies to be useless and dependent. It was a 
great consolation to them when the artists, follow- 
ing Monsieur Frere's example, and realizing the 
touching stories which are written in every wrinkle 
of their kindly faces, began to paint these aged 
women as well as the children. And so the old 
ladies still sit quietly, their frosty locks drawn smooth 
under queer lace caps, or bound by gay kerchiefs, 
their tear-dimmed eyes closing drowsily and the 
toil-cramped fingers resting idly in their laps ; but 
even while they rest they are earning money, for 
some artist of the sympathetic school is busy trans- 
ferring the pitiful figure to his canvas. 

- *_. - 



. j 

■ i 

:' : 'i 


.' .,' /~~ 

■~ ." 'i ■ ..jar ^^0^! 




almost reverence upon him. His own son over- 
tops him, and addresses his father playfully as 
" My good little author"; but there is a dignity 
mingled with his gentle courtesy which removes 
any impression of insignificance. 

The men and women who were in middle life 
when he came to Ecouen have either died or are 
aged now. There are grandmothers who are past 
working in the fields, who sit contentedly on the 
sunny side of the court, or cower by the chimney- 
corner, waiting, quietly waiting. Some of these 

One such old lady I distinctly remember, the 
Mere Cocotte ("Mother Cocotte"), a universal 
favorite. Some might have considered her poor, 
but she felt well-to-do and pleasantly independ- 
ent ; for did she not live in a picturesque old house, 
so crazy and dilapidated, so darkened with smoke 
and cobwebs, and so filled with old rubbish of 
faded pink bed-hangings. Mother Hubbard cup- 
boards, with bits ot coarse pottery and shining cop- 
per and brass, that the artists loved to paint within 
it ? And did they not pay her well for the privileg 

have not saved a pittance for their support in old It was true that she did not own this poor home, 
age, their children have all that they can do to but " Papa Frere " paid the rent, the town awarded 
care for their little ones, and it grieves the dear her a fagot of fire- wood and a loaf of bread daily, 

' The three pictures on these two pages are engraved by kind permission of L. H. Lefe- 

of London, owner of the copyrights. 



the butcher gave her a pint of soup every Sun- 
day, and as for other luxuries, she made as much 
as twenty cents, and sometimes even forty in a day, 
by sitting for the artists. It was pleasant to listen 
to the prattle of the old soul. She disliked the 
Prussians, for when they besieged Paris they stole 
her two pet rabbits; but she was always merry- 
hearted and sang delicious little love songs, in a 
cracked voice which must have been very sweet 
when she was young. She had a cap of fine lace, 
which had been handed down to her possibly by 
her own grandmother, and which she wore only on 
holidays, when she sat under the great trees that 
adjoin the castle and watched the young people 
dance in the open air. It seems to her that they 
do not dance with the grace and spirit of the young 
people of sixty years ago, but still she enjoys watch- 
ing them. She loves to see people happy. The 

ear-rings, and . freshly fluted frills, and look so 
charming that you would never suspect that a 
bit of dry bread is all they had for dinner to-day. 

" Farewell to misery, poverty, sorrowing, 

While we 've a fiddle we still will dance; 
Supper we 've none, nor can we go borrowing; 
Dance and forget is the fashion of France." 

Papa Frere's fete day (or day of his patron saint, 
which in France is celebrated instead of one's own 
birthday) was the occasion of the year for popular 
rejoicing for Ecouen. A grand dinner was served, 
and in the evening the peasants gathered about his 
park to see the annual display of fire-works. Since 
the death of his little granddaughter these festivi- 
ties have been discontinued, at Monsieur Frere's 
desire. The peasants of Ecouen are as quick to 
sympathize with grief as to join in merriment. 
Mother Cocotte attends every funeral and mass for 



charcoal-seller there is on working days as grimy as 
a pitman, but his face is clean now, and his shirt- 
sleeves are tied with ribbons. The butcher's boy 
has scented his curly locks and has a rose in his 
button-hole, and all the young girls from the vil- 
lage have donned their Sunday finery, their gold 

the dead, decently clad in black, and has a picture 
of the Virgin beside her little fire-place, with a 
blessed branch which the priest gave her last Palm 

The largest of the bells which hang in the belfry 
of the little church was given to the parish by 

l88 3 . 



Madame Frere, and when the children hear it 
tolling they exclaim, "There is Madame Frere 
calling us." This village church is rich in old 
stained glass and looks out upon the Place shaded 
by a magnificent old chestnut tree. It is said that 
the Chevalier Bayard fastened his horse to this tree 
while calling on the Mont- 
morencys, who built the old 
castle which still looks down 
upon Ecouen. Monsieur has 
used the Place as a back- 
ground for "The Young 
Guard," one of his later pict- 
ures, a reproduction of which 
is given on page 129. France 
is preeminently a military na- 
tion. The artists, Berne Belle- 
cour, Detaille, De Neuville, 
and others, have given us 
thrilling episodes in the last 
war with the Prussians. The 
same military enthusiasm 
glows in the breasts of the 
boys, and we can see the esprit 
de corps shining in each of the 
young faces. Some of the 
men who served as soldiers in 
the French army during the 
campaign of 1S70, Monsieur 
Frere painted long ago as 
children learning to drum and 
playing at drill. His own little 
grandson, Gabriel Frere, fig- 
ures in the awkward squad of 
" The Young Guard." 

Monsieur Frere writes in a 
recent letter : 

"' I am making a drawing from one 
of my latest paintings — the face of a 
child four years of age, my favorite 
model, who died just as my picture was 
finished. The drawing is for his mother. 
The poor woman employed all the 
money which the child gained in dress- 
ing him handsomely. Dear little fellow, 
with what courage he held himself mo- 
tionless in order to earn a pair of velvet 
pantaloons, a vest of velvet, fine shoes, 

and a hat with ribbons ! He was buried with all his bravery. There 
remain sixty-two francs of his earnings, with which they intend to 
erect a little monument." 

extremely dependent on his friend. He was in- 
vited with him on one occasion to a grand dinner. 
There were speeches and toasts, of which he un- 
derstood not one word ; but he followed his friend's 
cue, applauding where he applauded and answering 
the jokes and stories with an appreciative smile. 



While Edouard Frcre's pictures have been 
painted almost without exception in this secluded 
spot, they have found their way to all art centers. 
In England they are especially admired. Early 
in his successful career he was persuaded to visit a 
friend in London. He enjoyed the novel experi- 
ence exceedingly, but as he was entirely unac- 
quainted with the English language, he was 

Presently some one at the other end of the table 
proposed a toast which was greeted with universal 
enthusiasm. Papa Frere clapped his hands with 
the rest, whereat every one smiled or laughed 
and applauded more uproariously. Following his 
friend's example. Papa Frere smiled, nodded, and 
cheered : but was overcome with confusion when it 
was explained to him that he had been applauding 
his own name and some extremely flattering com- 
pliments which had just been paid him. It might 
have occurred to Madame Frere that this was the 




case, for to her swift intuitions no success which 
comes to her husband is a surprise, and she shares 
his honors with the calm satisfaction of one who 
had foreseen them from the first. But Papa Frere 
was of too simple and modest a nature to imagine 
for a moment that such admiration could be meant 
for him. 

The same sweet and unassuming spirit dwells 
in him still. His genius, not satisfied with past 
achievements, has ripened and matured with con- 
scientious study, so that his later pictures are bet- 

ter than the ones which made him famous. The 
world about him changes, the old people pass 
away and the children grow old ; but the child- 
heart that is in Edouard Frere can not change. 
The beauty which he has created can never die, 
but is a glorious gift from one life to mankind; the 
great, busy world is more humane and looks with 
tenderer compassion upon the children of the poor 
because he has lived, while all who have known 
him personally are the richer for that privilege, 
and thank God that he still lives to bless others. 

By Sydney Dayre. 

He stood in a fountain and held up a shell, 
From which a bright shower of diamonds fell, 
Just catching the glance of the sunshine which 

Bo-peep in and out of the jessamine shade ; 
And back at the children, who laughed up in 

He laughed, as they called him The Little Stone 


He laughed at the dew and he laughed at the 

Which smiled up at him through the long sum- 
mer hours ; 

He laughed as the robin and blue-bird and 


Just ceasing a moment their caroling gay, 

But soon, shaken down from the feathery 

Of the blast bearing onward the chilly Ice 

The fast whirling snow lay a covering white 
Over garden and lawn. And the children at 

Looked up with a whisper, from picture and 

toy : 
He has n't a coat on — poor Little Stone Boy!" 

But morning, all beaming with sparkles of light, 
Brought forth in the brightness each frolicsome 

To see if the spirit of winter could quell 
The smile of the sprite of the fountain and 


Came peeping and hopping, with coquetries " Ho ! ho ! he is dressed ! " cried a chorus of joy, 

'• And laughing as ever — the jolly Stone Boy!" 

To flit round the feet of the Little Stone Boy. 

He laughed when the flowers were drooping 

and dead, 
And autumn was painting in gold and in 

And bleaker and lower the gloomy clouds 

Awaking no gleam in the waters he flung — 
For nothing of shadow could dim or alloy 
The gladness and mirth of the Little Stone 


The Snow Queen had tenderly woven for him 
A mantle, hung softly o'er each little limb ; 
An icicle coronet shone on his head — 
Jack Frost made it for him," the little ones 

Thus decked with the treasures of winter, he 

As proudly his burthen aloft as before, 
And laughed at the storm which could never 

The happy, hilarious, Little Stone Boy. 




■ . ' ; 







Well, versed IN hunter's lore.; 
Then spake he to that well read boy 
"wouldst like to hear me roar? ' 



•Yes, thank You,"said the little boy, 

Who scorned all paltry fright: 
The lion roared ; then asked the boy : 
"- "woudst like to see me bite?" 

i88 3 .] 




"Oh yes" replied that plucky soy, 
Who coolly eyed his o-un ; 

" but first i'd like to try this toy \ — 
vy0yl0§t like to see some fun.?" 

,,«'/ ' r Then fled that lion from the boy, 


/ I And to this day that little boy 
Enjoys his hunter's lore. 







liv John R. Coryell. 

What a monster of contradictions ! 

An animal which looks like a fish, but which is not 
a fish ; which lives always in the water, but which 
can not live long under water, and which neverthe- 
less will die on land ; which has a mouth large 
enough to engulf at once- a dozen readers of 
St. Nicholas, but whose throat is so small that 
your father's fist can fill it. 

A whale ! Yes, a veritable giant among giants, 
the largest of all living creatures. 

To one who does not know the reason for it, it 
must seem odd to say that the whale is not a fish. 
But, in fact, it is no more a fish than you are. A 
fish has cold blood, and takes the little oxygen it 
needs from the water by means of gills ; while the 
whale must take its oxygen from the atmospheric 
air, just as you do. 

You need to take oxygen into your lungs to give 
to your blood at very short intervals, so that you 
can not exist for more than two or three minutes 
at the utmost without breathing. Of course, it 
would not do for the whale to have to breathe so 
often, for in that case he could never stay under 
water long enough to secure his food, and would 
consequently starve. 

To provide against this catastrophe the whale is 
enabled to charge a reservoir of blood with oxygen, 
and thus, with an hour's supply of aerated blood, it 
can dive down and remain under water until the 
supply is exhausted. Should it be detained after 
the supply is gone, it will drown as surely as 
your own self. 

The tail is the only swimming apparatus of the 
whale, and by it the whale can shoot its entire 
body, weighing, perhaps, four hundred thousand 
pounds, entirely out of water. One authentic 
writer says he has seen a whale leap so high out of 
the water that he, while standing on the quarter- 
deck of a ship, saw the horizon under its body. 

The tail is set transversely to the body, and its 
motion, unlike that of the same member in a 
fish, is up and down ; and with such vigor does it 
move that the surrounding water is forced into a 
series of whirling eddies. 

This tail is, moreover, the whale's chief weapon, 
though occasionally it does make use of its head or 
of its teeth, if it have the latter. Stung to fury by 
a harpoon, it will sometimes lash about with its tail 
to such purpose as to dash the stout whale-boat to 
pieces and hurl the inmates into the sea. As a 
rule, however, the whale prefers to run. 

Although many whales have no teeth, the sper- 
maceti whale, for example, has a most formidable 
set. With these it sometimes does terrible execu- 
tion among the pursuing boats. 

As may be supposed, such whales as have no 
teeth are properly provided for in some other way. 
Many of them subsist entirely upon the countless 
millions of jelly-fish, molluscs, and other kindred 
animals with which the ocean is plentifully stocked ; 
and as they are soft and yielding, teeth are not 
needed either to capture or masticate them. 

A net is what is needed, and this the toothless 
whales have. Depending from the upper jaw, 
which may be sixteen or seventeen feet long, is a 
hedge of baleen, or whale-bone, as it is commonly 
called. This is about ten feet long, and consists 
of a number of plates, solid at the upper end, but 
fraying out_, fringe-like, at the lower end. There 
are about six hundred of these plates on each side 
of the jaw, and in a large whale their weight will 
be some two thousand pounds. 

When the hungry giant wishes a meal, he opens 
wide his cavernous mouth, and letting his enor- 
mous lower lips drop down, drives through the 
water with all the force of his powerful tail. Millions 
upon millions of the tiny creatures upon which he 
feeds are thus taken into the gaping mouth which, 
when full, shuts tight. 

The plates of baleen close down on the lower 
jaw and the prey is secure. A large volume of 
water has been taken in, too, however, and this 
must be gotten rid of in some way. The way is 
simple. The whale merely forces the water out 
through the interstices in the baleen, and the hap- 
less fish remain to be swallowed at leisure down 
the throat, which is often not more than two inches 
in diameter. 

Occasionally this habit of the whale produces a 
very curious and beautiful effect. Many of the 
soft, jelly-like creatures in which the ocean abounds 
shine at night with a bright, phosphorescent light ; 
and the water, too, dashed into spray by the vig- 
orous sweep of the monster's tail, becomes charged 
with the same phosphorescent glow, and lights up 
the sea like drops of molten silver. 

Under such circumstances, when the dark giant 
surges through the waves with distended maw. he 
seems a monstrous submarine fire-eater swallowing 
lumps of flame and defying the wet element with 
showers of flaming drops, which he leaves behind 
him in a weird, shining wake. 









— „ g e w- 

1. Wak - en, Chris - tian chil 

2. Come, nor fear to seek 

3. Haste we, then, to wel 


Wm. E. Ashmall. 



dren, Up and let us 
Him, Chil - dren though we 
come, With a joy - ous 



*«. £ i-^ 




-J=-_ __L 






glad voice the 

He said of 

the King of 

I I 



















3EEzzESzEEE-= ^Ez^^^: =3= 


J 1 1 J_ 


— i— 


— &- 





I 4 I 

By Frank R. Stockton. 

In the spring of a certain year, long since passed 
away, Prince Hassak, of Itoby. determined to visit 
his uncle, the King of Van. 

"Whenever my uncle visited us," said the 
Prince, " or when my late father went to see him, 
the journey was always made by sea ; and, in 
order to do this, it was necessary to go in a very 
roundabout way between Itoby and Yan. Now, 
I shall do nothing of this kind. It is beneath the 
dignity of a prince to go out of his way on account 
of capes, peninsulas, and promontories. I shall 
march from my palace to that of my uncle in a 
straight line. I shall go across the country, and 
no obstacle shall cause me to deviate from my 
course. Mountains and hills shall be tunneled, 
rivers shall be bridged, houses shall be leveled ; ,1 
road shall be cut through forests ; and, when I 
have finished my march, the course over which I 
have passed shall be a mathematically straight 
line. Thus will I show to the world that, when a 
prince desires to travel, it is not necessary for him 
to go out of his way on account of obstacles." 

As soon as possible after the Prince had deter- 
mined upon this march, he made his preparations, 
and set out. He took with him a few courtiers, 
and a large body of miners, rock-splitters, bridge- 
builders, and workmen of that class, whose services 
would, very probably, be needed. Besides these, 
he had an officer, whose duty it was to point out 
the direct course to be taken, and another who 
was to draw a map of the march, showing the 
towns, mountains, and the various places it passed 
through. There were no compasses in those days, 
but the course-marker had an instrument which 
he would set in a proper direction by means of 
the stars, and then he could march by it all day. 
Besides these persons, Prince Hassak selected from 
the schools of his city five boys and five girls, and 
took them with him. He wished to show them 
how, when a thing was to be done, the best way 
was to go straight ahead and do it, turning aside 
for nothing. 

"When they grow up they will teach these 
things to their children," said he; •'and thus I 
will instill good principles into my people." 

The first clay Prince Hassak marched over a 
level country, with no further trouble than that 
occasioned by the tearing clown of fences and 
walls, and the destruction of a few cottages and 
barns. After encamping for the night, they set 
out the next morning, but had not marched manv 

miles before they came to a rocky hill, on the top 
1 if which was a handsome house, inhabited by a 

" Your Highness," said the course-marker, "in 
order to go in a direct line we must make a tunnel 
through this hill, immediately under the house. 
This may cause the building to fall in, but the 
rubbish can be easily removed." 

"• Let the men go to work," said the Prince. 
" I will dismount from my horse, and watch the 

When the Jolly-cum-pop saw the party halt 
before his house, he hurried out to pay his respects 
to the Prince. When he was informed of what 
was to be done, the Jolly-cum-pop could not re- 
frain from laughing aloud. 

"I never heard," he said, "of such a capital 
idea. It is so odd and original. It will be very 
funny, I am sure, to see a tunnel cut right under 
my house. " 

The miners and rock-splitters now began to 
work at the base of the hill, and then the Jolly- 
cum-pop made a proposition to the Prince. 

'* It will take your men some time," he said, 
" to cut this tunnel, and it is a pity your Highness 
should not be amused in the meanwhile. It is 
a fine day : suppose we go into the forest and 

This suited the Prince very well, for he did not 
care about sitting under a tree and watching his 
workmen, and the Jolly-cum-pop having sent for 
his horse and some bows and arrows, the whole 
party, with the exception of the laborers, rode 
toward the forest, a short distance away. 

"' What shall we find to hunt ? " asked the Prince 
of the Jolly-cum-pop. 

"I really do not know," exclaimed the latter, 
" but we'll hunt whatever we happen to see — deer, 
small birds, rabbits, griffins, rhinoceroses, any- 
thing that comes along. I feel as gay as a skip- 
ping grasshopper. My spirits rise like a soaring 
bird. What a joyful thing it is to have such a 
splendid hunt on such a glorious day ! " 

The gay and happy spirits of the Jolly-cum-pop 
affected the whole party, and they rode merrily 
through the forest: but they found no game : and, 
after an hour or two, they emerged into the open 
country again. At a distance, on a slight eleva- 
tion, stood a large and massive building. 

"I am hungry and thirsty," said the Prince, 
"and perhaps we can get some refreshments at 




yonder house. So far, this has not been a very 
fine hunt." 

" No," cried the Jolly-cum-pop, " not yet. But 
what a joyful thing to see a hospitable mansion 
just at the moment when we begin to feel a little 
tired and hungry ! " 

The building they were approaching belonged 
to a Potentate, who lived at a great distance. In 
some of his travels he had seen this massive 
house, and thought it would make a good prison. 
He accordingly bought it, fitted it up as a jail, and 
appointed a jailer and three myrmidons to take 
charge of it. This had occurred years before, but 
no prisoners had ever been sent to this jail. A 
few days preceding the Jolly-cum-pop's hunt, the 
Potentate had journeyed this way and had stopped 
at his jail. After inquiring into its condition, he 
had said to the jailer: 

"It is now fourteen years since I appointed you 
to this place, and in all that time there have been 
no prisoners, and you and your men have been 
drawing your wages without doing anything. I 
shall return this way in a few days, and if I still 
find you idle I shall discharge you all and close 
the jail." 

This filled the jailer with great dismay, for he 
did not wish to lose his good situation. When he 
saw the Prince and his party approaching, the 
thought struck him that perhaps he might make 
prisoners of them, and so not be found idle when 
the Potentate returned. He came out to meet 
the hunters, and when they asked if they could 
here find refreshment, he gave them a most cor- 
dial welcome. His men took their horses, and, 
inviting them to enter, he showed each member of 
the party into a small bedroom, of which there 
seemed to be a great many. 

" Plere are water and towels," he said to each 
one, "and when you have washed your faces and 
hands, your refreshments will be ready." Then, 
going out, he locked the door on the outside. 

The party numbered seventeen : the Prince, 
three courtiers, five boys, five girls, the course- 
marker, the map-maker, and the Jolly-cum-pop. 
The heart of the jailer was joyful; seventeen in- 
mates was something to be proud of. He ordered 
his myrmidons to give the prisoners a meal of 
bread and water through the holes in their cell- 
doors, and then he sat down to make out his 
report to the Potentate. 

" They must all be guilty of crimes," he said to 
himself, "which are punished by long imprison- 
ment. I don't want any of them executed." 

So he numbered his prisoners from one to seven- 
teen, according to the cell each happened to be in, 
and he wrote a crime opposite each number. The 
first was highway robbery, the next forgery, and 

after that followed treason, smuggling, barn-burn- 
ing, bribery, poaching, usury, piracy, witchcraft, 
assault and battery, using false weights and meas- 
ures, burglary, counterfeiting, robbing hen-roosts, 
conspiracy, and poisoning his grandmother by 

This report was scarcely finished when the 
Potentate returned. He was very much surprised 
to find that seventeen prisoners had come in since 
his previous visit, and he read the report with 

" Here is one who ought to be executed," he 
said, referring to Number Seventeen. "And how 
did he poison his grandmother by proxy ? Did 
he get another woman to be poisoned in her 
stead ? Or did he employ some one to act in his 
place as the poisoner ? " 

" I have not yet been fully informed, my lord," 
said the jailer, fearful that he should lose a pris- 
oner; "but this is his first offense, and his grand- 
mother, who did not die, has testified to his 
general good character." 

"Very well," said the Potentate; "but if he 
ever does it again, let him be executed ; and, by 
the way, I should like to see the prisoners." 

Thereupon the jailer conducted the Potentate 
along the corridors, and let him look through the 
holes in the doors at the prisoners within. 

" What is this little girl in for?" he asked. 

The jailer looked at the number over the door, 
and then at his report. 

" Piracy," he answered. 

"A strange offense for such a child," said the 

" They often begin that sort of thing very early 
in life," said the jailer. 

"And this fine gentleman," said the Potentate, 
looking in at the Prince, "what did he do ? " 

The jailer glanced at the number, and the 

" Robbed hen-roosts," he said. 

" He must have done a good deal of it to afford 
to dress so well," said the Potentate, passing on, 
and looking into other cells. " It seems to me 
that a great many of your prisoners are very 

" It is best to take them young, my lord," said 
the jailer. "They are very hard to catch when 
they grow up. " 

The Potentate then looked in at the Jolly-cum- 
pop, and asked what was his offense. 

" Conspiracy," was the answer. 

"And where are the other conspirators ?" 

" There was only one," said the jailer. 

Number Seventeen was the oldest of the cour- 

' ' He appears to be an elderly man to have a 



grandmother," said the Potentate. " She must 
be very aged, and that makes it all the worse for 
him. I think he should be executed." 

" Oh, no, my lord," cried the jailer. " 1 am 
assured that his crime was quite unintentional." 

" Then he should be set free," said the Potentate. 

"I mean to say," said the jailer, "that it was 
just enough intentional to cause him to be impris- 
oned here for a long time, but not enough to de- 
serve execution." 

" Very well," said the Potentate, turning to 
leave; "take good care of your prisoners, and 
send me a report every month." 

" That will I do. my lord," said the jailer, 
bowing very low. 

The Prince and his party had been very much 
surprised and incensed when they found that they 
could not get out of their rooms, and they had 

kicked and banged and shouted until they were 
tired, but the jailer had informed them that they 
were to be confined there for years ; and when the 
Potentate arrived they had resigned themselves 
to despair. The Jolly-cum-pop, however, was 
affected in a different 
way. It seemed to him 
the most amusing joke 
in the world that a per- 
son should deliberately 
walk into a prison-cell 
and be locked up for 
several years ; and he 
lay down on his little 
bed and laughed him- 
self to sleep. 

That night one of the 
boys sat at his iron- 
barred window, wide 
awake. He was a Tru- 
ant, and had never yet 
been in any place from 
which he could not run 
away. He felt that his 
school-fellows depended 
upon him to run away 
and bring them assistance, and he 
knew that his reputation as a Truant 
was at stake. His responsibility was 
so heavy that he could not sleep, and 
he sat at the window, trying to think 
of a way to get out. After some hours 
the moon arose, and by its light he 
saw upon the grass, not far from his 
window, a number of little creatures, 
which at first he took for birds or 
small squirrels ; but on looking more 
attentively he perceived that they were 
pigwidgeons, a kind of fairy, about 
six inches high. They were standing 
around a flat stone, and seemed to be 
making calculations on it with a piece 
of chalk. At this sight, the heart of 
the Truant jumped for joy. "Fairies 
can do anything," he said to himself, " and these 
certainly can get us out." He now tried in various 
ways to attract the attention of the pigwidgeons ; 
but as he was afraid to call or whistle very loud, for 
fear of arousing the jailer, he did not succeed. Hap- 
pily, he thought of a pea-shooter which he had in 
his pocket, and taking this out he blew a pea into 
the midst of the little group with such force that 
it knocked the chalk from the hand of the pigwid- 
geon who was using it. The little fellows looked 
up in astonishment, and perceived the Truant 
beckoning to them from his window. At first 
they stood angrily regarding him ; but on his urg- 




ing them in a loud whisper to come to his relief, 
they approached the prison and, clambering up a 
vine, soon reached his window-sill. The Truant 
now told his mournful tale, to which the pigwid- 
geons listened very attentively; and then, after a 
little consultation among themselves, one of them 
said: "We will get you out if you will tell us 
how to divide five-sevenths by six." 

The poor Truant was silent for an instant, and 
then he said: " That is not the kind of thing I am 
good at, but 1 expect some of the other fellows 
could tell you easily enough. Our windows must 
be all in a row, and you can climb up and ask 
some of them ; and if any one tells you, will you 
get us all out ? " 

"Yes," said the pigwidgeon who had spoken 
before. " We will do that, for we are very anxious 
to know how to divide five-sevenths by six. We 
have been working at it for four or five days, and 
there wont be anything worth dividing if we wait 
much longer." 

The pigwidgeons now began to descend the 
vine ; but one of them lingering a little, the Tru- 
ant, who had a great deal of curiosity, asked him 
what it was they had to divide. 

"There were eight of us," the pigwidgeon an- 
swered, "who helped a farmer's wife, and she 
gave us a pound of butter. She did not count us 
properly, and divided the butter into seven parts. 
We did not notice this at first, and two of the 
party, who were obliged to go away to a distance, 
took their portions and departed, and. now we can 
not divide among six the five-sevenths that re- 

" That is a pretty hard thing," said the Truant, 
" but I am sure some of the boys can tell you how 
to do it." 

The pigwidgeons visited the four next cells, 
which were occupied by four boys, but not one of 
them could tell how to divide five-sevenths by six. 
The Prince was questioned, but he did not know: 
and neither did the course-marker, nor the map- 
maker. It was not until they came to the cell of 
the oldest girl that they received an answer. She 
was good at mental arithmetic ; and, after a min- 
ute's thought, she said, " It would be five forty- 

"Good!" cried the pigwidgeons. "We will 
divide the butter into forty-two parts, and each 
take five. And now let us go to work and cut 
these bars." 

Three of the six pigwidgeons were workers in 
iron, and they had their little files and saws in 
pouches by their sides. They went to work man- 
fully, and the others helped them, and before 
morning one bar was cut in each of the seventeen 
windows. The cells were all on the ground floor, 

and it was quite easy for the prisoners to clamber 
out. That is, it was easy for all but the Jolly-cum- 
pop. He had laughed so much in his life that he 
had grown quite fat, and he found it impossible to 
squeeze himself through the opening made by the 
removal of one window-bar. The sixteen other 
prisoners had all departed ; the pigwidgeons had 
hurried away to divide their butter into forty-two 
parts, and the Jolly-cum-pop still remained in his 
cell, convulsed with laughter at the idea of being 
caught in such a curious predicament. 

" It is the most ridiculous thing in the world," 
he said. "I suppose I must stay here and cry 
until I get thin." And the idea so tickled him, 
that he laughed himself to sleep. 

The Prince and his party kept together, and 
hurried from the prison as fast as they could. 
When the day broke they had gone several miles, 
and then they stopped to rest. " Where is that 
Jolly-cum-pop?" said the Prince. " I suppose he 
has run home as fast as he could. He is a pretty 
fellow to lead us into this trouble and then desert 
us ! How are we to find the way back to his 
house ? Course-marker, can you tell us the direc- 
tion in which we should go ? " 

" Not until to-night, your Highness," answered 
the course-marker, "when I can set my instrument 
by the stars." 

The Prince's party was now in a doleful plight. 
Every one was very hungry ; they were in an open 
plain, no house was visible, and they knew not 
which way to go. They wandered about for some 
time, looking for a brook or a spring where they 
might quench their thirst ; and then a rabbit 
sprang out from some bushes. The whole party 
immediately started off in pursuit of the rabbit. 
They chased it here, there, backward and forward, 
through hollows and over hills, until it ran quite 
away and disappeared. Then they were more 
tired, thirsty, and hungry than before ; and, to 
add to their miseries, when night came on the sky 
was cloudy, and the course-marker could not set 
his instrument by the stars. It would be difficult 
to find sixteen more miserable people than the 
Prince and his companions when they awoke the 
next morning from their troubled sleep on the 
hard ground. Nearly starved to death, they 
gazed at one another with feelings of despair. 

" I feel," said the Prince, in a weak voice, " that 
there is nothing I would not do to obtain food. I 
would willingly become a slave if my master would 
give me a good breakfast." 

" So would I," ejaculated each one of the others. 

About an hour after this, as they were all sitting 
disconsolately upon the ground, they saw, slowly 
approaching, a large cart drawn by a pair of oxen. 
On the front of the cart, which seemed to be 

.88 3 .) 



heavily loaded, sat a man, with a red beard, read- the marks of earnest thought. Standing for a 

ing a book. The boys, when they saw the cart, set minute in a reflective mood, he addressed the 

up a feeble shout, and the man, lifting his eyes Prince in a slow, meditative manner: "How 

from his book, drove directly toward the group on would you like," he said, " to form a nucleus ? " 



the ground. Dismounting, he approached Prince 
Hassak, who immediately told him his troubles 
and implored relief. " We will do anything," said 
the Prince, "to obtain food." 

The man with the red beard had upon his brow 
Vol. XL— 10. 

"Can we get anything to eat by it?" eagerly 

asked the Prince. 

"Yes," replied the man, "you can." 

" We '11 do it ! " immediately cried the whole 

sixteen, without waiting for further information. 




" Which will you do first," said the man, "listen 
to my explanations, or eat ? " 

" Eat ! " cried the entire sixteen in chorus. 

The man now produced from his cart a quantity 
of bread, meat, wine, and 
other provisions, which 
he distributed generous- 
ly, but judiciously, to the 
hungry Prince and his 
followers. Everyone had 

the red beard, "to build dwellings, and also a 
school-house for these young people. Then we 
must till some ground in the suburbs, and lay the 
foundations, at least, of a few public buildings." 





enough, but no one too much. And soon, re- 
vived and strengthened, they felt like new beings. 

" Now," said the Prince, " we are ready to form 
a nucleus, as we promised. How is it done ? " 

" I will explain the matter to you in a few 
words," said the man with the red beard and the 
thoughtful brow. " For a long time I have been 
desirous to found a city. In order to do this one 
must begin by forming a nucleus. Every great 
city is started from a nucleus. A few persons set- 
tle down in some particular spot, and live there. 
Then they are a nucleus. Then other people 
come there, and gather around this nucleus, and 
then more people come and more, until in course of 
time there, is a great city. I have loaded this cart 
with provisions, tools, and other things that are 
necessary for my purpose, and have set out to find 
some people who would be willing to form a 
nucleus. I am very glad to have found you and 
that you are willing to enter into my plan ; and 
this seems a good spot for us to settle upon." 

"What is the first thing to be done?" said the 

" We must all go to work," said the man with 

»ft. lV ' 


" All this will take a good while, will it not ? " 
said the Prince. 

"Yes," said the man, "it will take a good 
while ; and the sooner we set about it, the better." 

Thereupon tools were distributed among the 
party, and Prince, courtiers, boys, girls, and all 
went to work to build houses and form the nucleus 
of a city. 

When the jailer looked into his cells in the 
morning, and found that all but one of his prison- 
ers had escaped, he was utterly astounded, and his 
face, when the Jolly-cum-pop saw him, made that 
individual roar with laughter. The jailer, however, 
was a man accustomed to deal with emergencies. 
" You need not laugh," he said, " everything shall 
go on as before, and I shall take no notice of the 
absence of your companions. You are now num- 
bers One to Seventeen inclusive, and you stand 
charged with highway robber}-, forgery, treason, 
smuggling, barn-burning, bribery, poaching, usu- 
ry, piracy, witchcraft, assault and battery, using 

,88 3 .] 



false weights and measures, burglary, counterfeit- 
ing, robbing hen-roosts, conspiracy, and poisoning 
your grandmother by proxy. I intended to-day to 
dress the convicts in prison garb, and you shall 
immediately be so clothed." 

" I shall require seventeen suits," said the Jolly- 

"Yes," said the jailer, "they shall be fur- 

"And seventeen rations a day," said the Jolly- 

" Certainly," replied the jailer. 

"This is luxury," roared the Jolly-cum-pop. 
" I shall spend my whole time in eating and putting 
on clean clothes." 

Seventeen large prison suits were now brought 
to the Jolly-cum-pop. He put one on and hung 
up the rest in his cell. These suits were half 
bright yellow and half bright green, with spots of 
bright red, as big as saucers. 

The jailer now had doors cut from one cell to 
another. " If the Potentate comes here and wants 
to look at the prisoners," he said to the Jolly-cum- 
pop, "you must appear in cell number One, so 
that he can look through the hole in the door, and 
see you ; then, as he walks along the corridor, 
you must walk through the cells, and whenever he 
looks into a cell, you must be there." 

" He will think," merrily replied the Jolly-cum- 
pop, "that all your prisoners are very fat, and 
that the little girls have grown up into big men." 

" 1 will endeavor to explain that," said the jailer. 

For several days the Jolly-cum-pop was highly 
amused at the idea of his being seventeen crimi- 
nals, and he would sit first in one cell and then in 
another, trying to look like a ferocious pirate, a 
hard-hearted usurer, or a mean-spirited chicken 
thief, and laughing heartily at his failures. But, 
after a time, he began to tire of this, and to have 
a strong desire to see what sort of a tunnel the 
Prince's miners and rock-splitters were making 
under his house. "I had hoped," he said to him- 
self, " that I should pine away in confinement, and 
so be able to get through the window-bars; but 
with nothing to do, and seventeen rations a day, I 
see no hope of that. But I must get out of this 
jail, and, as there seems no other way, I will re- 
volt." Thereupon he shouted to the jailer through 
the hole in the door of his cell: "We have re- 
volted ! We have risen in a body, and have deter- 
mined to resist your authority, and break jail ! " 

When the jailer heard this, he was greatly 
troubled. " Do not proceed to violence," he said; 
"let us parley." 

" Very well," replied the Jolly-cum-pop, " but 
you must open the cell door. We can not parley 
through a hole." 

The jailer thereupon opened the cell door, and 
the Jolly-cum-pop, having wrapped sixteen suits 
of clothes around his left arm as a shield, and 
holding in his right hand the iron bar which had 
been cut from his window, stepped boldly into the 
corridor, and confronted the jailer and his myr- 

"It will be useless for you to resist," he said. 
" You are but four, and we are seventeen. If you 
had been wise you would have made us all cheat- 
ing shop-keepers, chicken thieves, or usurers. Then 
you might have been able to control us ; but when 
you see before you a desperate highwayman, a 
daring smuggler, a blood-thirsty pirate, a wily- 
poacher, a powerful ruffian, a reckless burglar, a 
bold conspirator, and a murderer by proxy, you 
well may tremble." 

The jailer and his myrmidons looked at each 
other in dismay. 

" We sigh for no blood," continued the Jolly- 
cum-pop, "and will readily agree to terms. We 
will give you your choice : Will you allow us to 
honorably surrender, and peacefully disperse to 
our homes, or shall we rush upon you in a body, 
and, after overpowering you by numbers, set fire 
to the jail, and escape through the crackling tim- 
bers of the burning pile?" 

The jailer reflected for a minute. " It would be 
better, perhaps," he said, "that you should sur- 
render and disperse to your homes." 

The Jolly-cum-pop agreed to these terms, and 
the great gate being opened, he marched out in 
good order. "Now," said he to himself, "the 
thing for me to do is to get home as fast as I can, 
or that jailer may change his mind." But, being 
in a great hurry, he turned the wrong way, and 
walked rapidly into a country unknown to him. 
His walk was a very merry one. " By this time," 
he said to himself, "the Prince and his followers 
have returned to my house, and are tired of watch- 
ing- the rock-splitters and miners. How amused 
they will be when they see me return in this gay 
suit of green and yellow, with red spots, and with 
sixteen similar suits upon my arm ! How my own 
dogs will bark at me ! And how my own servants 
wont know me! It is the funniest thing I ever 
knew of ! " And his gay laugh echoed far and 
wide. But when he had gone several miles with- 
out seeing any signs of his habitation, his gayety 
abated. "It would have been much better," he 
said, as he sat down to rest under the shade of a 
tree, "if I had brought with me sixteen rations 
instead of these sixteen suits of clothes." As he 
said this, he heard six small laughs, which seemed 
to be near him, and, looking around, he perceived 
in a little pathway, which passed under the trees, 
six pigwidgeons, each carrying five little earthen 



pots, one on the head, one under each arm, and 
one in each hand. As he looked at them, the 
pots on the heads of the pigwidgeons were so 
shaken by the laughter of the little creatures, that 
every one of them fell to the ground, and was 
broken to pieces. 

"Now, then," cried one of the pigwidgeons, 
"see what you have made us do! The idea of a 
man wearing such clothes as those you have on, 
and having besides sixteen other suits of the same 
kind, is so ridiculous that' we could not help laugh- 
ing. And now each of us has broken a pot." 

" What do you want with so many little pots ? " 
asked the Jolly-cum-pop. 

"Each of us," answered the pigwidgeon, "has 
five forty-seconds of a pound of butter, 
which we wish to pot down for the win 
ter. We have had these butter-pots 
made, each of which holds a forty- '-".'&' 

second of a pound, and 
now six of them are bro- „„.-. 
ken. It is too bad ! ' 

" Where is your but 
ter ? " asked the Jolly- 

" It is in a cool £v 
spring, near 

I will repay you with two pounds of the best butter. 
This will save you the trouble of keeping it through 
the summer, and you will profit by the bargain." 

The pigwidgeons agreed to this plan, and con- 
ducted the Jolly-cum-pop to the 
spring, where he found the 
piece of nice fresh butter. 

said h 
a hur 

here," said the 
" and wrapped 
in large green 
leaves, but we 
wished to pot it down before the very hot 

weather came on. And now, alas " 

" Do not repine," interrupted the Jol- 
ly-cum-pop. " I will make you a prop- 
osition. I am very hungry, and must 
have something to eat. Give me your 


and if you will come to my house in the autumn, 

would eat bread without butter, and I suppose the 
rule will work both ways." And, thereupon, he ate- 



the butter. " It is not a rule," he said, when he 
had finished, "that I would care about following 
very often, but there is a great deal of nutriment 
in butter, and I will not complain." 

"Where is your house?" asked a pigwidgeon. 

"That is what I am trying to find out," he 
answered. " But of one thing I am certain; it is 
not a day's journey from the prison where you 
sawed out the window-bars. Inquire for the Jolly- 
cum-pop and all will be right." • 

"Very well," said the pigwidgeons, "we shall 
find you." And they departed, each carrying four 
little butter-pots. 

The Jolly-cum-pop now set out again, but he 
walked a long distance without seeing any person 
or any house. Toward the close of the afternoon 
he stopped, and, looking back, he saw coming to- 
ward him a large party of foot travelers. In a few 
moments, he perceived that the person in advance 
was the jailer. At this the Jolly-cum-pop could 
not restrain his merriment. "How comically it 
has all turned out ! " he exclaimed. " Here I Ye 
taken all this trouble, and tired myself out, and 
eaten butter without bread, and the jailer comes 
now, with a crowd of people, and takes me back. I 
might as well have staid where I was. Ha ! ha ! " 

The jailer now left his party and came running 
toward the Jolly-cum-pop. " I pray you, sir," he 
said, bowing very low, " do not cast us off." 

"Who are you all?" asked the Jolly-cum-pop, 
looking with much surprise at the jailer's compan- 
ions, who were now quite" near. 

" We are myself, my three myrmidons, and 
our wives and children. Our situations were such 
good ones that we married long ago, and our 
families lived in the upper stories of the prison. 
But when all the convicts had left we were afraid 
to remain, for, should the Potentate again visit 
the prison, he would be disappointed and enraged 
at finding no prisoners, and would, probably, 
punish us grievously. So we determined to follow 
you, and to ask you to let us go with you, where- 
ever you are going. I wrote a report, which I 
fastened to the great gate, and in it I stated that 
sixteen of the convicts escaped by the aid of out- 
side confederates, and that seventeen of them 
mutinied in a body and broke jail." 

"That report," laughed the Jolly-cum-pop, 
"your Potentate will not readily understand." 

" If I were there," said the jailer, " I could ex- 
plain it to him ; but. as it is. he must work it out 
for himself." 

" Have you anything to eat with you ? " asked 
the Jolly-cum-pop. 

"Oh, yes," said the jailer, "we brought pro- 

" Well, then, I gladly take you under my pro- 

tection. Let us have supper. I have had nothing 
to eat since morning but thirty forty-seconds of a 
pound of butter." 

The Jolly-cum-pop and his companions slept 
that night under some trees, and started off early 
the next morning. "If 1 could only get myself 
turned in the proper direction," said he, " I be- 
lieve we should soon reach my house." 

The Prince, his courtiers, the boys and girls, the 
course-marker, and the map-maker worked indus- 
triously for several days at the foundation of their 
city. They dug the ground, they carried stones, 
they cut down trees. This work was very hard for 
all of them, for they were not used to it. After a 
few days' labor, the Prince said to the man with the 
red beard, who was reading his. book: " I think 
we have now formed a nucleus. Any one can see 
that this is intended to be a city." 

"No," said the man, shading his thoughtful 
brow with a green umbrella, "nothing is truly a 
nucleus until something is gathered around it. 
Proceed with your work, while I continue my 
studies upon civil government." 

Toward the close of that day the red-bearded 
man raised his eyes from his book and beheld the 
Jolly-cum-pop and his party approaching. " Hur- 
rah ! " he cried, "we are already attracting set- 
tlers ! " And he went forth to meet them. 

When the Prince and the courtiers saw the Jolly- 
cum-pop in his bright and variegated dress, they 
did not know him : but the boys and girls soon 
recognized his jovial face, and, tired as they were, 
they set up a hearty laugh, in which they were 
loudly joined by their merry friend. While the 
Jolly-cum-pop was listening to the adventures of 
the Prince and his companions, and telling what 
had happened to himself, the man with the 
thoughtful brow was talking to the jailer and his 
party, and urging them to gather around the 
nucleus which had been here formed, and help 
to build a city. 

"Nothing will suit us better," exclaimed the 
jailer, "and the sooner we build a town wall so as 
to keep off the Potentate, if he should come this 
way, the better shall we be satisfied." 

The next morning, the Prince said to the red- 
bearded man : " Others have gathered around us. 
We have formed a nucleus, and thus have done all 
that we promised to do. We shall now depart." 

The man objected strongly to this, but the 
Prince paid no attention to his words. " What 
troubles me most," he said to the Jolly-cum-pop. 
" is the disgraceful condition of our clothes. They 
have been so torn and soiled during our unaccus- 
tomed work that they are not fit to be seen." 

" As for that," said the Jolly-cum-pop. " I have 
sixteen suits with me, in which vou can all dress. 



[ December, 

if you like. They are of unusual patterns, but they 
are new and clean." 

"It is better," said the Prince, "for persons in 
my station to appear inordinately gay than to be 
seen in rags and dirt. We will accept your clothes. " 

Thereupon, the Prince and each of the others 
put on a prison dress of bright green and yellow, 
with large red spots. There were some garments 
left over, for each boy wore only a pair of trousers 
with the waistband tied around his neck, and 
holes cut for his arms ; while the large jackets, 
with the sleeves tucked, made very good dresses 
for the girls. The Prince and his party, accom- 
panied by the Jolly-cum-pop, now left the red- 
bearded man and his new settlers to continue the 
building of the cj,ty, and set off anew on their jour- 
ney. The course-marker had not been informed 
the night before that they were to go away that 
morning, and consequently did not set his instru- 
ment by the stars. 

"As we do not know in which way we should 
go," said the Prince, " one way will be as good as 
another, and if we can find a road let us take it ; 
it will be easier walking." 

In an hour or two they found a road and they 
took it. After journeying the greater part of the 
day, they reached the top of a low hill, over which 
the road ran, and saw before them a glittering sea 
and the spires and houses of a city. 

" It is the city of Yan," said the course-marker. 

"That is true," said the Prince; " and as we 
are so near, we may as well go there." 

The astonishment of the people of Yan, when 
this party, dressed in bright green and yellow, 
with red spots, passed through their streets, was 
so great that the Jolly-cum-pop roared with laugh- 
ter. This set the boys and girls and all the peo- 
ple laughing, and the sounds of merriment became 

so uproarious that when they reached the palace 
the King came out to see what was the matter. 
What he thought when he saw his nephew in 
his fantastic guise, accompanied by what seemed 
to be sixteen other lunatics, can not now be known ; 
but, after hearing the Prince's story, he took him 
into an inner apartment, and thus addressed him : 
" My dear Hassak : The next time you pay me a 
visit, I beg that, for your sake and my own, you 
will come in the ordinary way. You have suffi- 
ciently shown to the world that, when a Prince 
desires to travel, it is often necessary for him to 
go out of his way on account of obstacles." 

" My dear uncle," replied Hassak, " your words 
shall not be forgotten." 

After a pleasant visit of a few weeks, the Prince 
and his party (in new clothes) returned (by sea) to 
Itoby, whence the Jolly-cum-pop soon repaired to 
his home. There he found the miners and rock- 
splitters still at work at the tunnel, which had now 
penetrated half-way through the hill on which 
stood his house. "You may go home," he said, 
"for the Prince has changed his plans. I will put 
a door to this tunnel, and it will make a splendid 
cellar in which to keep my wine and provisions." 

When the pigwidgeons came to see him in the 
autumn, he took from this cellar two pounds of 
butter and a large comb of honey, and gave it to 
them, at which they were greatly delighted, al- 
though they had to make several journeys to 
carry it home. 

The day after the Prince's return his map-maker 
said to him : " Your Highness, according to your 
commands I made, each day, a map of your pro- 
gress to the city of Yan. Here it is." 

The Prince glanced at it and then he cast his 
eyes upon the floor. "Leave me," he said. "I 
would be alone." 


£88 3 .1 


I5 1 


By Phil. Robinson. 

-j£'tj${;ww^'{i$j lp Jot %t4^*pf* i tfM ' 

iDivffltd |k Mil r 



■ '*%**~^r 






HIDING good-bye to my family, I 
started one fine morning on a 
journey in a horse-railway car. 
People begin journeys nowadays 
with little preparation and on 
slight resources, and think no 
more of travel across a great city 
and into the suburbs than they 
formerly did of a tour around the 

To a person not much accus- 

Vtomed to travel, there is a mild 
excitement in getting on board of 
a street-car ; it is in the nature of 
an adventure. The roar of the 
wheels in the iron track, the cheer- 
ful jingling of the bells, the effort to attract the 
attention of the driver, who, with one hand on the 
brake and the other controlling his fiery steeds, is 
always looking for a belated and hurrying passen- 
ger up the wrong street ; the scant courtesy of the 
conductor, who watches, with his hand on the bell- 
pull, the placing of your foot on the step in order 
to give you the little shock necessary to settle your 
ideas — this mere getting on board has its pleasing 
anxieties and surprises. And then there is always 
the curiosity as to your fellow-passengers, and the 
advantage in studying character in a vehicle where 
people usually think it unnecessary to conceal their 
real natures. I have noticed that the first-comers 
in a car seem to think they have a sort of property 
in it, and they resent with a stare of surprise the 
entrance of the last-comer as if his right to a seat 
depended upon their courtesy. In no other con- 
veyance, I think, does one so perfectly realize how 
queer people are. Nowhere else, perhaps, is ugli- 
ness and oddity and eccentricity in dress such an 
offense. And then the passengers, ugly as they 

may be, are so indifferent to your opinion. It 
something amazing, the conceit of ugly people. 

The car which I entered was nearly full — no car 
is ever full. It was one of the short cars called 
by the light-minded "bob-tailed," having one 
horse and no conductor — one of the contrivances 
that presumes upon the honesty of everybody 
except the driver. The car was dirty ; but as this 
is the only dirty .line in the United States it would 
be ill-natured to mention its name and city ; be- 
sides, it is unnecessary to do so, as no doubt most 
of my readers have been on it. I was interested 
in studying the legends in English and German 
posted above the windows. They related, mostly, 
to diseases and the benefit of soap applied. There 
were also directions about negotiating with the 
driver for change, and one, many times repeated, 
and written over the fare-box by the door, requested 
the passenger to "put the exact fare in the box." 
This legend always annoys me by its narrowness 
and petty dictation. Often I do not feel like being 
bound by this iron rule; sometimes I would like 
to put in more, sometimes less, than the exact five 
cents. But no allowance is made for different 
moods and varying financial conditions. I often 
wonder if this rule is founded on real justice in the 
bosom of the company, and whether it would be 
as anxious to seek out the traveler who should by 
chance overpay and restore the excess, as it is to 
follow him when he puts in too little. If this is 
not the meaning of " exact," then the company is 
more anxious to make money than to do justice. 
I do not suppose this is so, but there is one sus- 
picious thing about a horse-car. The floor is some- 
times a grating, and straw is spread on this, so 
that if the passenger, who is often nervous and 
obliged to pass his fare from hand to hand to the 
box, lets it drop in the straw, he never can find it. 



This plan of a double floor is adopted in the 
United States Mint, and the sweepings of the 
gold amount to a considerable sum. I wonder if 
the sweepings of the horse-cars go to the driver,, 
or if the company 
collect them in 
a order to put them 
in the nearest 
" poor-box." 

The car in 
which I had tak- 
en passage did 
not differ from 
others in any of 
the above re- 
spects. The pas- 
sengers seemed 
to have self-se- 
lected themselves 
with the usual re- 
gard to variety 
and the difficulty 
of fitting them- 
selves and their 
baskets and packages into the seats — so many peo- 
ple start to travel in the horse-car as if they expected 
to have all the room to themselves, and a good many 
do have it, in point of fact. But I had not been 
seated long, letting the directions about the fare 
run around in my brain with their dreadful and 
idiotic iteration (I wonder how long a person 
could keep sane if he were shut up in a horse-car, 
compelled to read these legends ; for he always is 
compelled to read them, however well he knows 
them), — I had not been seated long when I noticed 
a new legend posted over the fare-box. It read : 


And then I saw, standing by the box, an official 
whom I had never seen in a car before. I knew he 
was an official, not from any badge he wore, but 
from his unmistakable official air. He was a slender, 
polite young fellow, with cool gray eyes, a resolute 
nose, and a mouth that denoted firmness, tem- 
pered by an engaging smile. I should think that a 
locomotive engineer who was a member of the 
Young Men's Christian Association might look as 
he did. 

I wondered what the young man was stationed 
there for; but his office became apparent when 
the first passenger stepped forward to deposit his 
exact fare in the box ; he was to enforce the new 
regulation — "No fare taken that has not been 
earned." It struck me as an odd stand for a 
company to take ; but 1 have for some time been 
convinced that these great corporations, which are 
called monopolies, are moral and benevolent asso- 

ciations in disguise, seeking to elevate the condition 
of their fellow-men, and studying devices for the 
public good that will keep down dividends. I 
got this idea from the recent examinations of the 
railway and telegraph magnates by the Senate 

The first person who went forward to deposit 
her fare was a bright-faced school-girl. She evi- 
dently had not read the new legend, — since, in our 
day, school-children are taught not to observe 
anything outside of their text-books, — and she was 
surprised when the attendant at the box arrested 
her hand and asked : 

" Did you earn that five cents ? " 

The girl started, but quickly recovered her pres- 
ence of mind, and replied : 

" Yes, sir ; I earned it by going without butter, 
to get money to send to the poor heathen." 

The official looked surprised, but asked kindly : 

" Why don't you give it to the heathen, then, 
instead of spending it to ride about the city? " 

" Oh," said the little girl, with that logical readi- 
ness which distinguishes the American woman at 
the tenderest age, — "oh, I did n't eat so much 
more butter than Mother expected, that I earned 
more than enough for the heathen, and I have 
some for myself." 


This really ingenious reply puzzled the young 
man for a moment ; but he shook his head, and 
said that this way of making profit out of self- 
sacrifice under the guise of benevolence would 




have a bad effect on the character in the long 
run. She was no doubt a nice girl, but she 
would have to walk the rest of the way, for the 
company could not think of taking money that 
might, at the final day, be claimed by the heathen. 
She got out, with a little ruffled manner, and I 
watched her make her way straight to a candy- 

The next person who stepped up to the box was 
one of the most pleasing men we meet in mod- 
ern society, neatly dressed, with a frank, open, 
unabashed face, a hearty manner, and an insin- 
uating smile. With a confident air, born of long 
impunity in a patient community, without con- 
descending to look at the box-keeper, he put out 
his hand toward the box. 

"Excuse me," said the keeper, " how did you 
earn it?" 

"Earn it?" repeated the man, in imperturb- 
able good humor. "As everj'body earns money 
nowadays — by talking. By persuading people to 
look out for their own interests : by showing the 
uncertainty of life, the probability of accidents, 
and the necessity of providing for the family. Are 
you insured ? " 

" Yes ; I believe in insurance. It is the prac- 
tical benevolent institution of the century. It 
counteracts the natural improvidence of human 
nature. Yours is a noble profession. Insurance 
is a little dear, however. Now, there 's your dia- 
mond pin. It is ornamental, but to me it repre- 
sents too high a percentage on the insured. I 've 
got a big insurance, but I suppose you make more 
in one year than my family will get at my death 
on the savings of a life-time. I don't doubt you 
talk enough to earn your money, but I 'm obliged 
to consider the time of other people you consume, 
in talking, as an offset, and your account with the 
world is already overdrawn. I shall save some- 
body's time to-day if I compel you to walk the 
remainder of your journey." 

This was most surprising talk from a horse-car 
official, and I saw that the passengers began to 
look uneasy at it. 

The next one who got up was, I saw by his 
dress and manner, an easy-going farmer. The 
official, who appeared to know all about every- 
body at a glance, and to have the power of com- 
pelling the exact truth from everybody, at once 
said : 

"Oh ! you have a farm in the suburbs. Do you 
work at it yourself?" 

"Well, I sorter look after things, and pay the 

" How much time do you spend at the store 
and the post-office, talking?" 

" Oh ! I have to be around to keep watch of the 

markets and see what 's going on. She aint no 
hand to do business." 

" Who makes the butter and cheese? " 

" She does that." 

" Who cooks for the hired men?" 

"Of course, she cooks." 

"And does the washing, I suppose, and the. 
house-work generally, and sews in the evening, 
and looks after the children. Don't you think she 
earns most of the money ? " 

" I never looked at it in that light. It 's my farm. 
She never complains." 

" I dare say not. But you go home, and let her 
come and ride in the horse-car for a change." 

As the farmer got out, looking a little sheepish, 
a smartly dressed young fellow stepped forward 

and offered his fare. He was stopped by the sharp 
question : 

" Where did you get that five cents?" 

" Got it of the gov'ner. " 

" And the governor is " 

" He 's a carpenter." 

" And a good one, I hear." 

" You bet. It 's a cold day when he gets left 
on a job." 

" And you are in school. I see. Are you in the 
high school ? " 

" No ; I did n't pass." 

" I thought so. You have n't time for study. 



I 'vc seen you around the streets at night with 

other young hoodlums. Do you work with your 

father, out of school ? " 
" Not much. 

See here, old 

fellow, you 

know how it 

is ; a fellow 's 

got to play 

lawn tennis, 

and see all 

the base-ball 

matches, and 

go to the races 

and the min- 
strels, with the 

other fellows, 

else he aint 

" You are 

right, my boy. 

You are a 

product of 

yourage. But 

in future you 

'11 have to y/iiy \ 

walk to these 

shows, so far 

as this com- 
pany is concerned." The fellow got down. 

stepped on the sidewalk he gave a lon^ 

whistle, and was at once joined by another fellow 

of like nature, 
and the two 
loafed along up 
the street, star- 
ing in at the 
shop - windows, 
and ogling all 
the girls they 

The passen- 
gers by this time 
seemed a lit- 
tle reluctant to 
come forward, 
but the driv- 
er's bell jingled 
sharply, and a 
rather pretty 
young woman, 
with a care-worn 
face, timidly of- 
fered her mon- 
ey. There was a 

look of compassion on the official's face that I had 

not seen before as he asked her occupation. 

she said, in a low voice, 

As he 
, shrill 


" I make shirts, sir, 
"for six cents apiece." 

" Poor thing ! " said the official. " You 've over- 
earned your money ; but somehow the rule of the 
company doesn't seem to apply to you. If I had 
my way, you should ride all day for nothing. It 's 
a great shame. I 've half a mind — it's monstrous 
that half your daily earnings should go for car- 
fare. Ah ! those ear-rings must have cost you at 
least twenty-five cents each. And yet, it 's a nat- 
ural vanity. A woman must have something to 
sweeten life. No, I can not take your fare ; but 
you sit still. I '11 refer your case to the company." 

A gentleman whom I had been noticing for 
some time, and who regarded these proceedings 
with an amused air, now took his turn. He was 
past middle 
life, had a 
self- content- 
ed, well-fed 
and seemed, 
as he stepped 
forward, in 
no doubt of 
his position 
or of the re- 
ceipt of his 
fare. But he 
was stopped, 
all the same. 

" How did 
you get your 
money ? " 

"I inher- 
ited it." 

" And you 
have never, 
in all your 
life,. perform- 
ed a single- 
hour's real la- 
bor by which 
you added to 
the productiveness of the world, or earned a cent ? 
You need not answer. I know you have n't. You 
are a fortunate man. You will be fortunate until 
you are compelled to account for your time and 
opportunity. Most men would like to change 
places with you, and I confess that I should. 1 
respect you. Still, you must see for yourself that 
this particular car is no place for you." 

While this conversation was going on, a young 
man who had been standing, holding on to a 
strap, with a nonchalant air. looked around to see 
if the exit was clear. I did not wonder at his 






standing, for his panta- 
loons were so tight that 
he could not sit down. 
His waist was drawn in, 
his fashionable coat was 
padded, to give him 
square shoulders, his 
high collar kept his 
nose in the air, his hair 
was banged, and he 
wore a high, shiny hat 
and carried a short 
cane. He belonged to 
a species that has been 
very conspicuous lately. 
He slipped through the 

door and disappeared as the bell rang to let out the in- 
heritor. It was the only sensible thing that ever I knew 
one of his class do ; and his action proved to me that any 
one of his tribe, as one of his friends said of the late Eng- 
lish male Lily, is not such a fool as he pretends to be. 
With him also slipped out three or four others — a well- 
known broker, an operator in flour and pork, an agent for 
the Society for the Amelioration of the Condition of the 
Jews, and a seedy-looking man whose breath gave a spir- 
itual tone to the car, and whom I had never seen active 
at any other time than in an election campaign. 

The car was pretty well thinned out by this time. The 
bell rang sharply for the delinquents. A thick-set man, 
who might have been taken for a philosopher, if the 
manner in which he sat, with his knees drawn together 
and his feet spread apart, had not betrayed his occupa- 
tion as a shoemaker, arose and approached the official. 
The latter merely looked at him with a quizzical expres- 
sion, and then lifted up one foot and turned up the sole 
of his boot. The leather was spongy and worn into 
holes, and the tops were cracked in three places. 

" This is your work," said the official. " I have to 
wear these, because the new ones you promised week 
before last have not come home." 

The shoemaker went out without a word, and another 
mechanic stepped up. Everybody knows him, in his 
working garb, with his well-to-do air and his agreeable 
manner. The whole of our modern civilization rests on 
him. His name is oftener in our mouths than " mala- 
Some experts think that he is the cause of malaria, 
while others hold that malaria originated him. 

"Where are you going?" asked 
the official, blandly. 

"Back to the shop. I 've got a 
job on the hill." 

"And I dare say you are going 
back to get a tool you forgot in the 

"And you '11 charge for the time 
going for the forgotten tool, and 
your fare back and forth. Your in- 
nocent forgetfulness is costing the 


i88 3 l. 



community too much. This company can not be 
longer a party to it." 

There was now left in the car only the seam- 
stress, who was riding on sufferance, a woman with 
a big basket, 
apparently con- 
taining some- 
body's " wash- 
ing," and my- 
self. I was 
curious to see 
how the official 
would treat the 
It is not always 
convenient to 
ride with a lot 
of clothes-bas- 
kets and mar- 
ket-baskets (I 
forgot to men- 
tion that a 
gaudily dressed 
woman with a 
descended at 
the time the 
"dude" es- 
caped), but if 
any one earns y^x 
her money, I 
said to myself, 
it must be this 

poor washerwoman. The official seemed to be of 
my opinion. He was about to receive the fare 
when a thought struck him. He lifted the cloth 
that covered the clothes and exposed them to view. 
The sight was too painfully familiar. The dirt had 
been soaked and ironed into the linen. The shirt- 
bosoms were streaked with iron-rust. The tender- 
hearted official sighed, and the poor woman took 
up her basket and went her painful way. Alas ! 
where are we to look for virtue in this world ? 

It was now my turn. I was disposed to depart 
without any parley, but the official, who knew 

how long I had been riding, cried out, "Fare, 
please." I offered the five cents to the box. 

" You are something in the pen line, I think ? " 

"Nothing very remunerative," I replied, with 
assumed indifference. " I do not write deluding 
for the news- 

"True; but 
there is a pop- 
ular notion that 
your copyright 
is a hinderance 
to the diffusion 
of knowledge. 
I don't share 
this notion as 
write, so we will 
let that point 
pass. Is there 
any other way 
in which you 
can account for 
this five-cent 
piece as fairly 
earned ? " 

"Well," I 
said, "I think yf4 
I have earned 
it by refraining 
from riding in the horse-cars. I usually walk." 

"Your reason is ingenious: it is even plaus- 
ible," he replied. " I even think you are right in 
principle. But in the interest of the company I 
can not admit it. What would become of the horse- 
cars, if people should find the use of their legs 
again and walk as they did before horse-cars were 
invented ? No, sir ; you stand in the way of civili- 
zation. Saving is not earning in these days." 

As the car jolted on its way, — it is torture to 
ride over our roughly laid track, — I stopped for a 
moment and reflected upon the whimsical conduct 
of this car company. If its test were generally 
applied, what would become of our civilization? 




The little angels, maiden dear, I trow 

Are just as dainty and as fair as thou ; 

Only, to us it is not ever given 

To see them when they fly to earth from heaven. 

But if thou dost not yet, dear maiden, know 

Where little angels love to dwell below, 

When they come down to earth from heaven's bowers, 

I '11 tell thee where they live — 't is in the flowers. 

A tiny tent each opening blossom is, 

Some little angel chose it out for his, 

That he might rest there from his wanderings 

Ere heavenward again he spreads his wings. 

He takes much thought about his dwelling, too — 

Ay, just as much as lowly mortals do. 

He decks it out on every side with care, 

That so he may with pleasure linger there. 

He fetches sunbeams brightly glittering, 

And makes his roof a golden covering. 

He fetches radiant colors, one and all, 

And paints his tiny dwelling's inner wall. 

With blossom-meal he bakes celestial bread, 

Lest he on earth should be an hungered. 

He brews his drink from fresh and sparkling dew, 

And keeps his house as well as I or you. 



The flower is happy when this master makes 
So great a stir within and brews and bakes. 
And when the angel flies to heaven again, 
The little house falls ruined, all for pain. 
And so, if thou art fain, O maiden dear, 
To have the little angels ever near, 
Then keep amid the flowers, and there will be 
Some little angel always guarding thee. 
Before thy window let a floweret bloom — 
No evil thought may pass into thy room ; 
A knot of flowers upon thy bosom bear — 
An angel shall go with thee everywhere ; 
Water a lily-spray at morning-light — 
All day thou shalt remain as lily-white ; 
At night, let roses guard thy sleeping head — 
Angels shall rock thee on a rose-strewn bed. 
No dream of evil may brood over thee, 
For little angels close will cover thee. 
And when they suffer dreams to enter there, 
Such dreams will surely all be good and fair. 
And if, while guarded safely thus thou art, 
Thou dreamest of the love of some true heart, 
Then think that it must good and faithful be, 
Or angels had not let it in to thee. 




NE of the most in- 
teresting of English 
highways is the old 
coach road from 
London to Ports- 
mouth. Its interest 
is in part due to the 
charming scenery 
through which it 
runs, but as much 
to memories of a 
by-gone time. One 
traveling this road 
at the present day 
might well deem it lonely, as there will be met on 
it only the liveried equipage of some local mag- 
nate, the more unpretentious turn-out of country 
doctor or parson, with here and there a lumbering 
farm wagon, or the farmer himself in his smart two- 
wheeled "trap, "on thewaytoaneighboringmarket. 
How different it was half a century ago, when 
along this same highway fifty four-horse stages 
were "tooled" to and fro from England's metrop- 
olis to her chief sea-port town, top-heavy with 
fares — often a noisy crowd of jovial Jack-tars, just 
off a cruise and making Londonward, or with faces 
set for Portsmouth, once more to breast the billows 
and brave the dangers of the deep ! Many a naval 
officer of name and fame historic, such as the Rod- 
neys, Cochranes, Collingwoods, and Codringtons, 
— even Nile's hero himself, — has been whirled 
along this old highway. 

All that is over now, and long has been. To- 
day the iron horse, with its rattling train, carries 

such travelers by a different route — the screech of 
its whistle being just audible to wayfarers on the 
old road, as in mockery of their crawling pace. 
Of its ancient glories there remain only the splendid 
causeway, still kept in repair, and the inns encount- 
ered at short distances apart, many of them once 
grand hostelries. They, however, are not in re- 
pair; instead, altogether out of it. Their walls 
are cracked and crumbling to ruins, the ample 
court-yards are grass-grown, and the stables empty, 
or occupied only by half a dozen clumsy cart- 
horses ; while of human kind moving around will 
be a lout or two in smock-frocks, where gaudily 
dressed postilions, booted and spurred, with natty 
ostlers in sleeved waistcoats, tight-fitting breeches, 
and gaiters once ruled the roast. 

Among other ancient landmarks on this now 
little-used highway is one of dark and tragic 
import. Beyond the town of Petersfield, going 
southward, the road winds up a long steep ridge 
of chalk formation — the " Southdowns," which 
have given their name to the celebrated breed of 
sheep. Near the summit is a crater-like depres- 
sion, several hundred feet in depth, around whose* 
rim the causeway is carried — a dark and dismal 
hole, so weird of aspect as to have earned for it 
the appellation of the "Devil's Punch Bowl." 
Human agency has further contributed to the ap- 
propriateness of the title. By the side of the road, 
just where it turns around the upper edge of the 
hollow, is a monolithic monument, recording the 
tragic fate of a sailor who was there murdered 
and his dead body flung into the " Bowl." The 
inscription further states that justice overtook his 
murderers, who were hanged on the self-same spot, 
the scene of their crime. 

It is a morning in the month of June, the hour a 
little after day-break. A white fog is over the land 

* Copyright, 

3, by The Century Co. All rights reserved. 



of South Hampshire — so white that it might be 
taken for snow. The resemblance is increased by 
the fact of its being but a layer, so low that the 
crests of the hills and tree-tops of copses appear 
as islets in the ocean, with shores well defined, 
though constantly shifting. For, in truth, it is the 
effect of a mirage, a phenomenon aught but rare 
in the region of the Southdowns. 

The youth who is wending his way up the slope 
leading to the Devil's Punch Bowl takes no note 
of this illusion of nature. But he is not unobserv- 
ant of the fog itself; indeed, he seems pleased at 
having it around him, as though it afforded con- 
cealment from pursuers. Some evidence of this 
might be gathered from his now and then casting 
suspicious glances rearward and at intervals stop- 
ping to listen. Neither seeing nor hearing anything, 
however, he continues up the hill in a brisk walk, 
though apparently weary. That he is tired can be 
told by his sitting down on a bank by the road- 
side, as soon as he reaches the summit, evidently 
to rest himself. What he carries could not be the 
cause of his fatigue — only a small bundle done up in 
a silk handkerchief. More iikely it comes from his 
tramp along the hard road, the thick dust over his 
clothes showing that he has been on it for hours. 

Now, high up the ridge, where the fog is but 
a thin film, the solitary wayfarer can be better 
observed, and a glance at his face forbids all 
thought of his being a runaway from justice. Its 
expression is open, frank, and manly ; whatever of 
fear there is in it certainly can not be due to any 
consciousness of crime. It is a handsome face, 
moreover, framed in a profusion of blonde hair, 
which falls curling past cheeks of ruddy hue. An 
air of rusticity in the cut of his clothes would 
bespeak him country bred, probably the son of a 
farmer. And just that is he, his father being a 
yeoman-farmer near Godalming, some thirty miles 
back along the road. Why the youth is so far from 
home at this early hour, and afoot, — why those un- 
easy glances over the shoulder, as if he were an 
escaping convict, — may be gathered from some 
words of soliloquy half spoken aloud by him, while 
resting on the banks : 

" I hope they wont miss me before breakfast- 
time. By then I ought to be in Portsmouth, and 
if I 've the luck to get apprenticed on board a 
ship, I '11 take precious good care not to show my- 
self on shore till she 's off. But, surely, Father 
wont think of following this way — not a bit of it. 
The old wagoner will tell him what I said about 
going to London, and that '11 throw him off the 
scent completely." 

The smile that accompanied the last words is 
replaced by a graver look, with a touch of sadness 
in the tone of his voice as he continues : 

"Poor, dear Mother, and Sis Em'ly ! It'll go 
hard with them for a bit, grieving. But they '11 
soon get over it. 'T is n't like I was leaving them 
never to come back. Besides, wont I write Mother 
a letter soon as I 'm sure of getting safe off? " 

A short interval of silent reflection, and then 
follow words of a self-justifying nature : 

" How could I help it? Father would insist on 
my being a farmer, though he knows how I hate 
it. One clod-hopper in the family 's quite enough ; 
and brother Dick 's the man for that. As the 
soul; says, ' Let me go ploughing the sea.' Yes, 
though I should never rise above being a com- 
mon sailor. Who 's happier than the jolly Jack- 
tar ? He sees the world, any way, which is better 
than to live all one's life, with head down, delving 
ditches. But a common sailor — no! Maybe I '11 
come home, in three or four years, with gold but- 
tons on my jacket and a glittering band around the 
rim of my cap. Ay, and with pockets full of 
gold coin ! Who knows ? Then wont Mother be 
proud of me, and little Em, too? " 

By this time, the uprisen sun has dispelled the last 
lingering threads of mist, and Henry Chester (such 
is the youth's name) perceives, for the first time, 
that he has been sitting beside a tall column of 
stone. As the memorial tablet is right before his 
eyes, and he reads the inscription on it, again 
comes a shadow over his countenance. May not 
the fate of that unfortunate sailor be a forecast 
of his own ? Why should it be revealed to him 
just then ? Is it a warning of what is before him, 
with reproach for his treachery to those left behind ? 
Probably, at that very moment, an angry father, 
a mother and sister in tears, all on his account ! 

For a time he stands hesitating, in his mind 
a conflict of emotions — a struggle between filial 
affection and selfish desire. Thus wavering, a 
word would decide him to turn back for Godalming 
and home. But there is no one to speak that word, 
while the next wave of thought surging upward 
brings vividly before him the sea with all its won- 
ders — a vision too bright, too fascinating, to be 
resisted by a boy, especially one brought up on a 
farm. So he no longer hesitates, but. picking up 
his bundle, strides on toward Portsmouth. 

A few hundred paces farther up. and he is on 
the summit of the ridge, there to behold the 
belt of low-lying Hampshire coastland, and beyond 
it the sea itself, like a sheet of blue glass, spread- 
ing out till met by the lighter blue of the sky. It 
is his first look upon the ocean, but not the last; 
it can surely now claim him for its own. 

Soon after, an incident occurs to strengthen him 
in the resolve he has taken. At the southern base 
of the " Downs.'' lying alongside the road, is the 
park and mansion of Horndean. Passing its lodge 




gate, he has the curiosity to ask who is the owner of 
such a grand place, and gets for answer, "Admiral 
Sir Charles Napier." * 

"Might not /some day be an admiral ?" self- 
interrogates Henry Chester, the thought sending 
lightness to his heart and quickening his steps in 
the direction of Portsmouth. 

Chapter II. 


THE clocks of Portsmouth are striking nine as 
the yeoman farmer's son enters the suburbs of 
the famous sea-port. He lingers not there, but 
presses on to where he may find the ships — "by 
the Hard, Portsea," as he learns on inquiry. 
Presently, a long street opens before him, at 
whose farther end he descries a forest of masts, 
with their net-work of spars and rigging, like the 
web of a gigantic spider. Ship he has never seen 
before, save in pictures or miniature models ; but 
either were enough for their identification, and the 
youth knows he is now looking with waking eyes at 
what has so often appeared to him in dreams. 

Hastening on, he sees scores of vessels lying at 
anchor off the Hard, their boats coming and go- 
ing. But they are men-of-war, he is told, and . 
not the sort for him. Notwithstanding his am- 
bitious hope of one day becoming a naval hero, he 
does not quite relish the idea of being a common 
sailor — at least, on a man-of-war. It were too 
like enlisting in the army to serve as a private 
soldier — a thing not to be thought of by the son 
of a yeoman-farmer. Besides, he has heard of 
harsh discipline on war vessels, and that the navy 
tar, when in a foreign port, is permitted to see 
little more of the country than may be viewed 
over the rail or from the rigging of his ship. 
A merchantman is the craft he inclines to, at 
least to make a beginning with, especially one 
that trades from port to port, visiting many lands; 
for, in truth, his leaning toward a sea - life has 
much to do with a desire to see the world and 
its wonders. Above all, would a whaler be to his 
fancy, as among the most interesting books of his 
reading have been some that described the chase 
of " Leviathan," and he longs to take a part in it. 
But Portsmouth is not the place for whaling ves- 
sels, not one such being there. 

For the merchantmen he is directed to their 
special harbor ; and proceeding thither, he finds 
several lying alongside the wharves, some taking 
in cargo, some discharging it, with two or three 

fully freighted and ready to set sail. These last 
claim his attention first, and, screwing up courage, 
he boards one, and asks if he may speak with her 

The captain being pointed out to him, he mod- 
estly and somewhat timidly makes known his 
wishes. But he meets only with an off-hand denial, 
couched in words of scant courtesy. 

Disconcerted, though not at all discouraged, he 
tries another ship ; but with no better success. 
Then another, and another, with like result, until 
he has boarded nearly every vessel in the harbor 
having a gang-plank out. Some of the skippers 
receive him even rudely, and one almost brutally, 
saying: "We don't want land-lubbers on this 
craft. So cut ashore — quick ! " 

Henry Chester's hopes, high-tide at noon, ere 
night are down to lowest ebb ; and greatly humili- 
ated, he almost wishes himself back on the old 
farmstead by Godalming. He is even again con- 
sidering whether it would not be better to give it 
up and go back, when his eyes chance to stray to a 
flag on whose corner is a cluster of stars on a blue 
ground, with a field of red and white bands alter- 
nating. It droops over the taffrail of a bark of 
some six hundred tons burden, and below it on 
her stern is lettered "The Calypso." During 
his perambulations to and fro, he has more than 
once passed this vessel ; but, the ensign not being 
English, he did not think of boarding her. Re- 
fused by so many skippers of his own country, 
what chance would there be for him with one of 
a foreign vessel ? None whatever, reasoned he. 
But now, more intelligently reflecting, he bethinks 
him that the bark, after all, is not so much a 
foreigner, a passer-by having told him she is 
American, — or "Yankee," as it was put, — and 
the flag she displays is the famed " Star-Spangled 

" Well," mutters the runaway to himself, " I '11 
make one more try. If this one, too, refuses me, 
things will be no worse; and then — then — home, 
I suppose." 

Saying which, he walks resolutely up the sloping 
plank and steps on board the bark, to repeat 
there the question he has already asked that day 
for the twentieth time — "Can I speak with .the 
captain ? " 

" I guess not," answers he to whom it is ad- 
dressed, a slim youth who stands leaning against 
the capstan. " Leastways, not now, 'cause he 's not 
on board. What might you be wantin', mister? 
Maybe I can fix it for you." 

Though the words arc encouraging and the tone 

* The Sir Charles Napier known to history as the "hero of St. Jean d'Acre," but better known to sailors in the British 11317 as 
" Old Sharpen Your Cutlasses ! " This quaint soubriquet he obtained from an order issued by him when he commanded a fleet in the 
Baltic, anticipating an engagement with the Russians. 



kindly, Henry Chester has little hopes that he can, 
the speaker being but a boy himself. Still, he 
speaks in a tone of authority, and though in sailor 
garb, it is not that of a common deck-hand. He 
is in his shirt-sleeves, the day being warm, but the 
shirt is of fine linen, ruffled at the breast, and gold- 
studded, while a costly Panama hat shades his 
somewhat sallow face from the sun. Besides, he 
is on the quarter-deck, seeming at home there. 

Noting these details, the applicant takes heart to 
tell again his oft-told tale, and await the rejoinder. 

"Well," responds the young American, "I'm 
sorry I can't give you an answer about that, the 
Cap'n, as I told you, not being aboard. He 's gone 
ashore on some Custom-house business. But, if 
you like, you can come again and see him." 

"I would like it much; when might I come?" 

"Well, he might be back any minute. Still, 
it 's uncertain, and you 'd better make it to-morrow 
morning; you '11 be sure to find him on board up 
till noon, anyhow." 

Though country born and bred, Henry Chester 
was too well-mannered to prolong the interview, 
especially after receiving such courteous treatment, 
the first shown him that day. So, bowing thanks, 
as well as speaking them, he returns to the wharf. 
But, still under the influence of gratitude, he 
glances back over the bark's counter, to see on 
her quarter-deck what intensifies his desire to be- 
come one of her crew. A fair vision it is — a slip 
of a girl, sweet-faced and of graceful form, who 
has just come out of the cabin, and joined the 
youth by the capstan, to all appearance asking 
some question about Chester himself, as her eyes 
are turned shoreward after him. At the same time, 
a middle-aged, lady-like woman shows herself at 
the head of the companion-stair and seems in- 
terested in him also. 

"The woman must be the captain's wife and 
the girl his daughter," surmises the English youth, 
and correctly. " But I never knew that ladies 
lived on board ships, as they seem to be doing. 
An American fashion, I suppose. How different 
from all the other vessels I 've visited. Come back 
to-morrow morning? No, not a bit of it ! I '11 
hang about here, and wait the captain's return. 
That will I, if it be till midnight." 

So resolving, he looks around for a place where 
he may rest himself. After his thirty miles' trudge 
along the king's highway, with quite ten more 
back and forth on the wharves, to say naught of 
the many ships boarded, he needs rest badly. A 
pile of timber here, with some loose planks along- 
side it, offers the thing he is in search of; and on 
the latter he seats himself, leaning his back 
against the boards in such a position as to be 
screened from the sight of those on the bark, 

while himself having a view of the approaches to 
her gang-plank. 

For a time he keeps intently on the watch, won- 
dering what sort of man the "Calypso's" captain 
may be, and whether he will recognize him amidst 
the moving throng. Not likely, since most of those 
passing by arc men of the sea, as their garb beto- 
kens. There are sailors in blue jackets and 
trousers that are tight at the hip and loose around 
the ankles, with straw-plaited or glazed hats, bright- 
ribboned, and set far back on the head ; other sea- 
men in heavy pilot-cloth coats and sou'-westers ; 
still ethers wearing Guernsey frocks and worsted 
caps, with long points drooping down over then- 
ears. Now, a staid naval officer passes along in 
gold-laced uniform, and sword slung in black 
leathern belt; now, a party of rollicking midship- 
men, full of romp and mischief. 

Not all who pass him arc English ; there are men 
loosely robed, and wearing turbans, whom he takes 
to be Turks, or Egyptians, which they are ; others, 
also of Oriental aspect, in red caps, with blue silk 
tassels — the fez. In short, he sees sailors of all 
nations and colors, from the blonde-complexioned 
Swede and Norwegian to the almost jet-black 
negro from Africa. 

But while endeavoring to guess the different 
nationalities, a group at length presents itself 
which puzzles him. It is composed of three indi- 
viduals — a man, boy, and girl; their respective 
ages being about twenty-five, fifteen, and ten. 
The oldest (the man) is not much above five feet 
in height, the other two short in proportion. All 
three, however, are stout-bodied, broad-shouldered, 
and with heads of goodly size ; the short, slender 
legs alone giving them a squat, diminutive look. 
Their complexion is that of old mahogany ; hair 
straight as needles, coarse as bristles, and crow- 
black ; eyes of jet, obliqued to the line of the nose, 
this thin at the bridge, and depressed, while widely- 
dilated at the nostrils ; low foreheads and retreat- 
ing chins — such are the features of this singular 
trio. The- man's face is somewhat forbidding, 
the boy's less so, while the countenance of the 
girl has a pleasing expression, or at least a pict- 
uresqueness such as is commonly associated with 
gypsies. What chiefly attracts Henry Chester to 
them, however, while still further perplexing him 
as to their nationality, is that all three are 
attired in the ordinary way as other well-dressed 
people in the streets of Portsmouth. The man 
and boy wear broadcloth coats, tall " chimney- 
pot" hats, and polished boots : white linen shirts, 
too, with standing collars, and silk neck-ties: 
the boy somewhat foppishly twirling a light cane 
he carries in his kid-gloved hand. The girl is 
dressed neatly and becomingly in a gown of 




cotton print, with a bright-colored scarf over her 
shoulders, and a bonnet on her head, her only 
adornment being a necklace of imitation pearls 
and a ring or two on her fingers. 

Henry Chester might not have taken such par- 
ticular notice of them but that, when opposite 
him, they came to a stand, though not on his 
account. What halts them is the sight of the 
starred and striped flag on the " Calypso," which 
is evidently nothing new to them, however rare a 
visitor in the harbor of Portsmouth. A circum- 
stance that further surprises Henry is to hear them 
converse about it in his own tongue. 

" Look, Ocushlu ! " exclaims the man, address- 
ing the girl. "That the same flag we often see 
in our own country on real fisher ship." 

"Indeed so — just same. You see, Orundelico ? " 

" Oh, yes," responds the boy, with a careless 
toss of head and wave of the cane, as much as to 
say, " What matters it ? " 

" 'Merican ship," further observes the man. 
"They speak Inglis, same as people here." 

" Yes, Eleparu," rejoins the boy. "That true; 
but they different from Inglismcn — not always 
friends; sometimes they enemies and fight. Sailors 
tell me that when we were in the big war-ship." 

"Well, it no business of ours," returns Ele- 
paru. " Come 'long ! " Saying which, he leads 
off, the others following ; all three at intervals 
uttering ejaculations of delighted wonder, as ob- 
jects novel and unknown come before their eyes. 

Equally wonders the English youth as to who 
and what they may be. Such queer specimens of 
humanity ! But not long does he ponder upon it. 
Up all the night preceding and through all that 
day, with his mind constantly on the rack, his tired 
frame at length succumbs, and he falls asleep. 

• Chapter III. 


The Hampshire youth sleeps soundly, dreaming 
of a ship manned by women, with a pretty, child- 
like girl among the crew. But he seems scarcely 
to have closed his eyes before he is awakened by a 
clamor of voices, scolding and laughing in jarring 
contrast. Rubbing his eyes and looking about 
him, he sees the cause of the strange disturbance, 
which proceeds from some ragged boys, of the class 
commonly termed " wharf-rats " or " mud-larks." 
Nearly a dozen are gathered together, and it is 
they who laugh ; the angry voices come from 
others, around whom they have formed a ring 
and whom they are "badgering." 

Springing upon his feet, he hurries toward the 
scene of contention, or whatever it may be ; not 

from curiosity, but impelled by a more generous 
motive — a suspicion that there is foul play going 
on. For among the mud-larks he recognizes one 
who, early in the day. offered insult to himself, 
calling him a " country yokel." Having other fish 
to fry, he did not at the time resent it, but now — 
now he will see. 

Arriving at the spot, he sees, what he has already 
dimly suspected, that the mud-larks' victims are the 
three odd individuals who lately stopped in front 
of him. But it is not they who are most angry ; 
instead, they are giving the "rats " change in kind, 
returning their "chaff," and even getting the bet- 
ter of them, so much so that some of their would- 
be tormentors have quite lost their tempers. One 
is already furious — a big, hulking fellow, their 
leader and instigator, and the same who had cried 
"country yokel." As it chances, he is afflicted 
with an impediment of speech, in fact, stutters 
badly, making all sorts of twitching grimaces in 
the endeavor to speak correctly. Taking advan- 
tage of this, the boy Orundelico — "blackamoor," 
as he is being called — has so turned the tables 
on him by successful mimicry of his speech as to 
elicit loud laughter from a party of sailors loitering 
near. This brings on a climax, the incensed bully, 
finally losing all restraint of himself, making a dash 
at his diminutive mocker, and felling him to the 
pavement with a vindictive blow. 

"Tit-it-it-take that, ye ugly mim-m-monkey ! " 
is its accompaniment in speech as spiteful as 

The girl sends up a shriek, crying out : 

" Oh, Eleparu ! Orundelico killed ! He dead ! " 

"No, not dead!" answers the boy, instantly 
on his feet again like a rebounding ball, and 
apparently but little injured. " He take me foul. 
Let him try once more. Come on, big brute ! " 

And the pigmy places himself in a defiant 
attitude, fronting an adversary nearly twice his 
own size. 

" Stan' side ! " shouts Eleparu, interposing. 
" Let me go at him ! " 

" Neither of you ! " puts in a new and resolute 
voice, that of Henry Chester, who, pushing both 
aside, stands face to face with the aggressor, fists 
hard shut, and eyes flashing anger. " Now, you 
ruffian," he adds, " I 'm your man." 

" Wh-wh-who are yi-yi-you ? an' wk-wh-what 's 
it your bi bib-business?" 

" No matter who I am ; but it 's my business to 
make you repent that cowardly blow. Come on 
and get your punishment!" And he advances 
toward the stammerer, who has shrunk back. 

This unlooked-for interference puts an end to 
the fun-making of the mud- larks, all of whom are 
now highly incensed. For in their new adversary 



they recognize a lad of country raising, — not a town 
boy, — which of itself challenges their antagonistic 
instincts. On these they arc about to act, one cry- 
ing out : " Let 's pitch into the yokel and gie him 
a good trouncin' ! " — a second adding: "Hang 
his impcrence ! " — while a third counsels teaching 
him "Portsmouth manners." 

Such a lesson he seems likely to receive, and it 
would probably have fared hardly with our young 
hero but for the sudden appearance on ihc scene 
of another figure — a young fellow in shirt-sleeves 
and wearing a Panama hat — he of the "Calypso." 

"Thunder and lightning ! " he exclaimed, com- 
ing on with a rush. " What 's the rumpus about.? 
Ha! A fisticuff fight, with odds — five to one! 
Well, Ned Gancy aint going to stand by an' look 
on at that; he pitches in with the minority." 

And so saying, the young American placed 
himself in a pugilistic attitude by the side of 
Henry Chester. 

This accession of strength to the assailed party 
put a different face on the matter, the assailants 
evidently being cowed, despite their superiority 
of numbers. They know their newest adversary 
to be an American, and at sight of the two intrepid- 
looking youths standing side by side, with the 
angry faces of Eleparu and Orundelico in the back- 
ground, they become sullenly silent, most of them 
evidently inclined to steal away from the ground. 

The affair seemed likely thus to end, when, to the 
surprise of all, Eleparu, hitherto held back by the 
girl, suddenly released himself and bounded for- 
ward, with hands and arms wide open. In an- 
other instant he had grasped the big bully in a 
tiger-like embrace, lifted him off his feet, and 
dashed him down upon the flags with a violence 
that threatened the breaking of every bone in his 
body. Nor did his implacable little adversary, who 
seemed possessed of a giant's strength, appear sat- 
isfied with this, for he afterward sprang on top of 
him, with a paving-stone in his uplifted hands. 

The affair might have terminated tragically had 
not the uplifted hand been caught by Henry Ches- 
ter. While he was still holding it, a man came 
up, who brought the conflict to an abrupt close by 
seizing Eleparu's collar, and dragging him off his 
prostrate foe. 

"Ho! what's this ?" demands the new-comer, 
in a loud, authoritative voice. "Why, York! 
Jemmy ! Fucgia ! what are you all doing here ? 
You should have staid on board the steam-ship, 
as I told you to do. Go back to her at once." 

By this time tli2 mud-larks have scuttled off, the 
big one-, who had recovered his feet, making after 
them, and all speedily disappearing. The three 
gypsy-looking creatures go, too, leaving their pro- 
tectors, Henry Chester and Ned Gancy, to explain 

things to him who has caused the stampede. He 
is an officer in uniform, wearing insignia which pro- 
claim him a captain in the royal navy. And as he 
already more than half comprehends the situation, 
a few words suffice to make it all clear to him ; 
when, thanking the two youths for their generous 
and courageous interference in behalf of his pro- 
tegeS) — as he styles the odd trio whose part they 
had taken, — he bows a courteous farewell, and 
continues his interrupted walk along the wharves. 

"Guess you did n't get much sleep," observes 
the young American, with a knowing smile, to 
Henry Chester. 

" Who told you I was asleep ? " replies the latter 
in some surprise. 

"Who? Nobody." 

" How came you to know it, then ? " 

" How? Was n't I up in the main-top, and did n't 
I see everything you did ? And you behaved par- 
ticularly well, I must say. But come ! Let 's 
aboard. The captain has come back. He 's my 
father, and maybe we can find a berth for you on 
the ' Calypso.' Come along ! " 

That night, Henry Chester eats supper at the 
" Calypso's" cabin table, by invitation of the cap- 
tain's son, sleeps on board, and, better still, has 
his name entered on her books as an apprentice. 
And he finds her just the sort of craft he was de- 
sirous to go to sea in — a general trader, bound for 
the Oriental Archipelago and the isles of the Pa- 
cific Ocean. To crown all, she has completed her 
cargo, and is ready to put to sea. 

Sail she does, early the next day, barely leav- 
ing him time to keep that promise, made by the 
Devil's Punch Bowl, of writing to his mother. 

Chapter IV. 


A SHIP tempest-tossed, laboring amid the surges 
of an angry sea ; her crew on the alert, doing their 
utmost to keep her off a lee-shore. And such a 
shore ! None more dangerous on all ocean's edge ; 
for it is the west coast of Terra del Fuego, abreast 
the Fury Isles and that long belt of seething break- 
ers known to mariners as the "Milky Way," the 
same of which the great naturalist, Darwin, has 
said: "One sight of such a coast is enough to 
make a landsman dream for a week about ship- 
wreck, peril, and death." 

There is no landsman in the ship nou- exposed 
to its dangers. All on board are familiar with 
the sea — have spent years upon it. Yet is there 
fear in their hearts, and pallor on their cheeks, 
as their eyes turn to that belt of white, frothv 




water between them and the land, trending north 
and south beyond the range of vision. 

Technically speaking, the endangered vessel is 
not a ship, but a bark, as betokened by the fore- 
and-aft rig of her mizzen-mast. Nor is she of large 
dimensions ; only some six or seven hundred tons. 
But the reader knows this already, or will, after 
learning her name. As her stern swings up on the 
billow, there can be read upon it "The Calypso"; 
and she is that "Calypso" in which Henry Chester 
sailed out of Portsmouth harbor to make his first 
acquaintance with a sea life. 

Though nearly four years have elapsed since then, 
he is still on board of her. There stands he by 
the binnacle — no more a boy, but a young man, 
and in a garb that bespeaks him of the quarter- 
deck, — not the fore-peak, — for he is now the 
"Calypso's" third officer. And her second is not 
far off; he is the generous youth who was the means 
of getting him the berth. Also grown to manhood, 
he, too, is aft, lending a hand at the helm — the 
strength of one man being insufficient to keep it 
steady in that heavily rolling sea. On the poop- 
deck is Captain Gancy himself, consulting a small 
chart, and filled with anxiety as, at intervals look- 
ing toward the companion-way, he there sees his 
wife and daughter holding on by the man-ropes. 
For he knows his vessel to be in danger, and his 
dear ones as well. 

A glance at the bark reveals that she has been 
on a long voyage. Her paint is faded, her sails 
patched, and there is rust along the chains and 
around the hawse-holes. She might be mistaken 
for a whaler coming off a four years' cruise. And 
nearly that length of time has she been cruising, 
but not after whales. Her cargo, a full one, con- 
sists of sandal-wood, spices, tortoise-shell, mother- 
of-pearl, and real pearls also — in short, a miscella- 
neous assortment of the commodities obtained by 
traffic. in the islands and around the coasts of the 
great South Sea. 

Her last call has been at Honolulu harbor in the 
Sandwich Isles, and she is now homeward-bound 
for New York, around the Horn. A succession of 
westerly winds, or rather continuation of them, 
has forced her too far on to the Fuegian coast, too 
near the Furies; and now tossed about on a bil- 
lowy sea, with the breakers of the Milky Way in 
sight to leeward, no wonder that her crew are 
apprehensive for their safety. 

Still, perilous as is their situation, they might 
not so much regard it were the " Calypso " sound 
and in sailing trim. Unfortunately, she is far 
from this, having a damaged rudder, and with 
both courses torn to shreds. . She is lying-to un- 
der storm forestay-sail and close-reefed try-sails, 
wearing at intervals, whenever it can be done 

with advantage, to keep her away from those 
" white horses" a-lee. But even under the dimin- 
ished spread of canvas the bark is distressed be- 
yond what she can bear, and Captain Gancy is 
about to order a further reduction of canvas, when, 
looking westward, — in which direction he has 
been all along anxiously on the watch, — he sees 
what sends a shiver through his frame : three huge 
rollers, whose height and steepness teU him the 
" Calypso" is about to be tried to the very utmost 
of her strength. Good sea-boat though he knows 
her to be. he knows also that a crisis is near. 
There is but time for him to utter a warning shout, 
ere the first roller comes surging upon them. By 
a lucky chance the bark, having good steerage- 
way, meets and rises over it unharmed. But her 
way being now checked, the second roller deadens 
it completely, and she is thrown off the wind. The 
third, then taking her right abeam, she careens 
over so far that the whole of her lee bulwark, from 
cat-head to stern-davit, is ducked under water. 

It is a moment of doubt, with fear appalling — 
almost despair. Struck by another sea, she would 
surely go under. But, luckily, the third is the 
last of the series, and she rights herself, rolling 
back again like an empty cask. Then, as a 
steed shaking his mane after a shower, she throws 
the briny water off, through hawse-holes and scup- 
pers, till her decks are clear again. 

A cry of relief a,scends from the crew, instinctive 
and simultaneous. Nor does the loss of her lee- 
quarter boat, dipped under and torn from the 
davits, hinder them from adding a triumphant 
hurrah, the skipper himself waving his wet tar- 
paulin and crying aloud : 

"Well done, old 'Calypso!' Boys! we may 
thank our stars for being on board such a sea- 
worthy craft ! " 

Alas ! both the feeling of triumph and security 
are short-lived, ending almost on the instant. 
Scarce has the joyous hurrah ceased reverberating 
along her decks, when a voice is heard calling out, 
in a tone very different : 

" The ship 's sprung a leak ! And a big one, too ! 
The water 's coming into her like a sluice ! " 

There is a rush for the fore hatch-way, whence 
the words of alarm proceed, the main one being 
battened down and covered with tarpaulin. Then 
a hurried descent to the "'tween decks" and an 
anxious peering into the hold below. True — too 
true ! It is already half-full of water, which seems 
mounting higher, and by inches to the minute ! So 
fancy the more frightened ones. 

" Though bad enuf, taint altogether so' bad 's 
that," pronounced Leugriff, the carpenter, after a 
brief inspection. "There 's a hole in the bottom 
for sartin' ; but mebbe we kin beat it by pumpin'." 

i88 3 .J 



Thus encouraged, the captain bounds back on 
deck, calling out : " All hands to the pumps ! " 

There is no need to say that; all take hold and 
work them with a will : it is as if every one were 
working for his own life. 

A struggle succeeds, triangular and unequal, 
being as two to one. For the storm still rages, 
needing helm and sails to be looked after ; while 
the inflow must be kept under in the hold. A ter- 
rible conflict it is, between man's strength and the 
elements ; but short, and alas ! to end in the defeat 
of the former. The "Calypso" is water-logged, 
will no longer obey her helm, and must surely sink. 

At length convinced of this, Captain Gancy calls 
out: " Boys, it 's no use trying to keep her afloat. 
Drop the pumps, and let us take to the boats." 

But taking to the boats is neither an easy nor 
hopeful alternative, seeming little better than that 
<3f a drowning man catching at straws. Still, 
though desperate, it is their only chance ; and with 
not a moment to be wasted in irresolution. But the 
"' Calypso's " crew is a well-disciplined one ; every 
hand on board having served in her for years. 

The only two boats left them — the gig and pin- 
nace — are therefore let down to the water, with- 
out damage to either, and, by like dexterous 
management, everybody got safely into them. 
It is a quick embarkation, however, so hurried, 
indeed, that few effects can be taken along — 
only those that chance to be readiest to hand. 
Another moment's delay might have cost them 
their lives v for scarce have they taken their seats 
and pushed the boats clear of the ship's channels, 
when, another sea striking her, she goes down head 
foremost like a lump of lead, carrying masts, spars, 
torn sails, and rigging — everything — along with 

Captain Gancy groans at the sight. " My fine 
bark gone to tl|e bottom of the sea ; cargo and 
all — the gatherings of years ! Hard, cruel luck ! " 

.Mingling with his words of sorrow are cries that 
seem cruel, too — the screams of sea-birds, gannets, 
gulls, and the wide-winged albatross, that have 
been long hovering above the "Calypso," as if 
knowing her to be doomed, and hoping to find a 
feast among the floating remnants of the wreck. 

(To be continued.) 

Long before our readers can see this first installment of Captain Mayne Reid's story, they will have 
heard, through the newspapers, the announcement that comes to us just as this Christmas number is going to 
press. " Captain Mayne Reid," the cable dispatch of October 22d states, " died at his residence in London, 
last evening, after a short illness." 

Little did we think, when, early in October, St. Nicholas received a message from Captain Reid to the 
boys and girls of America, that it would he conveyed to them with so unwelcome an introduction. But the 
affectionate words of greeting, thus unexpectedly turned into a last good-bye, will be not the less appreciated 
now that the chivalrous heart that prompted them beats no more. 

n * ******** 

" I have heard," — wrote Captain Reid in his letter of September 22d, received too late to be inserted in 
Mr. Trowbridge's paper in the November St. Nicholas,—" I have heard that you intend honoring me by a 
biographical sketch — and, furthermore, that I am to receive this honor at the hands of one of America's most 
celebrated, and justly celebrated, writers, Mr. Trowbridge. Will you kindly notify this gentleman that the 
only thing about myself I specially care to have recorded is my great love and reverence for the American 
people and, above all, for the American youth, whom I regard with an affection warm and strong, almost as 
a man would feel for his own children ? I am told it is reciprocated; and this knowledge is much — I should 
say/}/// — compensation for a life of toil which has been otherwise ill-rewarded. 

" Therefore, I trust Mr. Trowbridge will tell my youthful clientele of America how much they are in my 
heart ; and, moreover, how much I long to instruct them in a higher way than I have hitherto done by my 
carelessly written romances. I am now seeking such opportunity ; and, if life be spared me long enough to 
find it, I promise it shall be taken advantage of." 

1 68 



C°fn e bring with a. n°}f e , my m^rry m e try ^ys 

Th e Clwtmsy- log t° th e firing 
\fl»il« fiie g°°d dam e , ft*, hidj-'jse eJl b e fr ee Jf 



i83 3 .; 



[This Christmas pot-pourri of the joyous holiday, past and pres- 
ent, of Christmas carols and of popular airs, seeks to enter a protest 
against the denial of Santa Claus, and to show rhe eternal freshness 
of the story "ever old, yet ever new." The music to accompany 
the airs, as indicated, is popular and familiar, and the singing of the 
"Carols," if given without instrumental accompaniment, may be 
made very effective. The piece is intended to precede the stripping 
of the Christmas-tree,] 

Ned, 1 

Fred, > The Three Somber Young Gentlemen. 
Ted, ) 
Molly, } 

Dolly, \ The Three Pretty Girls. 
Polly, > 

Santa CLAUS, "The same old two-and-sixpence." 
The Fairy Bountiful. 
The Waits. 
The Seneschal, The Jester, The Boys with the Boar's 

Head and the Candle; The Girl with the Christmas 

Pie ; The Boys with the Yule Log. 
The Three - Kings of Orient. 
The Chorus of Children. 


The Three Somber Young Gentlemen should be boys of from 
fourteen to sixteen, in prim black suits ("swallow-tails." if possible, 
and high hats). The Three Pretty Girls — girls of twelve to 
fourteen, in pretty aesthetic or French Directory costumes. The 
Waits — eight good singers, girls and boys, in ancient costumes, 
time of 1700; bell-crowned hats, poke bonnets, long coats and 
cloaks, and mufflers. The Seneschal — boy of fourteen; long 
violet robe, short clothes, velvet bonnet, gray wig and beard, long 
staff, keys and chain. The Jester — boy of ten to twelve; court- 
jester's suit. The Boys with the Boar's Head and the Can- 
dle — old-time court suits. The Girl with the Christmas Pie 
— " Dolly Varden " suit of 1780. The Boys with the Yule Log 
— yeoman's dress of sixteenth century. The Three Kings of 
Orient — brilliant Oriental costumes. The Fairy Bountiful — 
conventional fairy's dress — wings, wand, and spangles. Santa 

Claus — the "Simon Pure" article, "all in furs, Irom his head to 
his foot." The Chorus of Children — in modern street or Christ- 
mas-party dress. 


[A winter scene. Stage spread with white, to represent snow. 
At rear, a painted curtain, or shifting scene, readily prepared, repre- 
senting the front of an old-fashioned house, with wide latticed 
window above. This scene should be movable, as it must conceal 
the Christmas-tree, which is to be disclosed in the _/??tate. Cut- 
paper falling, to represent snow, will add a pretty effect. As the 
curtain rises, The Waits, standing beneath the window, ^mr; Miss 
Muloch's veriion of (he Christmas carol, beginning — 
"God rest ye, merry gentlemen, 
Let nothing you dismay," etc. 
At close of enrol, the window slowly opens and disclose^ The Three. 
Somber Young Gentlemen, who say, or sing, dismally] — 

Who calls us merry gentlemen, 
And says let naught dismay ? 
For what care we for Christmas-tree, 

And what for Christmas Day ? 
Though hearts are bold, yet hopes are cold, 

And gloom has come to stay ; 
No joy we see in Christmas-tree, 
And none in Christmas Day! 
The Waits [sing, as before^ the Christmas carol be- 
ginning] — "Carol, brothers, carol, carol joyfully,'* 
etc. After the song, they look at the Three Somber 
Young Gentlemen, and lift their hands in pity. 
First Wait. 

Why, what is the matter, young gentlemen three? 
Now tell us — oh, tell us, we pray. 




Second Wait. And why are you sad ? 
Third Wait. When you ought to be glad — 
Fourth Wait. On this blessed and bright Christmas 

Fifth Wait. When the world 's all aglow, 

Why be moping here so ? 
Sixth Wait. Oh, why aren't you jolly as we? 
Seventh Wait. On this glad Christmas Day — 
Eighth Wait. When you ought to be gay. 
All Waits. Why be grouty, young gentlemen three? 

[The Three Somber Young Gentlemen lean gloomily out of the 
window to emphasize their remarks, and say] — 

Ned. We 're just out of college, and bubbling with 
knowledge ; 
There 's nothing on earth we don't know. 
H ebrew — 
Fred. Sanskrit — 

Ted. And Greek — 

Ned. We can each of us speak, 

And the reason for everything show ! 
Fred. But we' ve grown, oh, so gray 
Since that dolefulest day 
When science our fondest dream twisted 
By that grim Q. 
Ted. E. 

Ned. D.* 

Fred. Which has proved to us three 

That Santa Claus never existed ! 
Ted. So we mope and we moan, 

And we grumble and groan ; 
And we wonder so how you can play. 
And we sigh — O 
Ned. Heigh — 

Fred. O — ! 

Ted. And we 're puzzled to know, 

What is there to see in the Day ? 
The Waits [sing, as before, the nursery carol\. 
" I saw three ships come sailing by 
On Christmas Day in the morning," etc. 

[Words in " Baby's Opera," and as they sing, The Three Pretty 
Girls come dancing in and curtsy prettily to The Three 
Somber Young Gentlemen in the latticed window.] 

The Waits. 

Oh, just, please to tell us, young gentlemen three, 

As your eyes o'er this picture must stray, 

Are n't three pretty girls, with their curtsies and curls, 

Quite enough, sirs, to see in the Day ? 

[The Three Young Gentlemen seem surprised.] 

Ned. There 's some mystery here ; 

Fred. Or an error, 't is clear. 

Ted. 'T is not my wedding-dav, I '11 agree ! 

Ned. Nor yet mine, sir! 

Fred. Nor mine ! 

All Three [gallantly]. 

But we '11 cease to repine, 

If you '11 stay here, O pretty girls three! 
[The Three Pretty Girls curtsy again, and say ] — 
Molly. Why, of course, sirs, we '11 stay ; 
Dolly. For we've come -here to say — 
Polly. O you somber Young Gentlemen three ! 
Molly. Though you 're stuffed full of knowledge — 
Dolly. From cramming in college — 

* Q. E. D — A term in Geometry, which, as every high-school scholar 

Polly. Yet, you 're stupid as stupid can be ! 
The Three Yoi*.\g Gentlemen \_greatly surprised]. 

What — stupid ? 
The Three Pretty Girls [emphatically^]. 

Yes — stupid ! 
The Waits [decidedly]. As stupid as stupid can be ! 
Molly. For, if you can't tell, 
Dolly. Though with science you swell, 
Polly. Why Christmas Day comes with its glee — 
Molly. Then the children will say, 

As they all troop this way, 
Dolly and Polly. 

Why — you 're stupid as stupid can be! 
The Three Young Gentlemen. What — stupid ? 
The Three Pretty Girls. Yes — stupid! 
The Waits. As stupid as stupid can be ! 
Ned [to Fred and Ted, looking decidedly dazed]. 

Can this really be so ? 
Fred. Oh, it can't be, you know ! 
Ted. College graduates stupid ? Heyday ! 

[Music and hurrahs heard outside.] 

The Three Young Gentlemen. 

Hallo ! What 's that noise ? 
The Three Pretty Girls. 

'T is the girls and the boys keeping step to their 
bright reveille I 

[The "Children's Reveille" sounds without, and the Chorus of Chil- 
dren march in and around, keeping time to theirchorus. These 
words, with numerous repetitions and a plentiful sprinkling of 
"Hail" and "Hurrah." can be sung to the well-known, 
" Turkish Reveille," or "Turkish Patrol," by Michaelis.] 

Hail to the Day we welcome here — to Christmas 

Day, hurrah ! 
Hail to the jolly saint so dear — to Santa Claus, 

hurrah ! 

[The Three Pretty Girls, with Waits at left, face the Chorus 
of Children massed at right.] 

Molly. You are greatly mistaken — no saint greets 

you here, 

Just three somber young gentlemen — dismal and drear. 


Three somber young gentlemen, just out of college, 

And from eyelid to instep stuffed "cram-full" of 



Christmas Day is a fable — these wise ones declare — 

And Old Santa Claus ! He 's a — delusion and snare ! 

All Three. 

They say you 're all wrong with your gladness and 


Children [interrupting excitedly]. 

They do ? Then — they're stupid as stupid can be! 

The Three Young Gentlemen. What — stupid ? 

Children [vociferously] . 

Yes — stupid as stupid can be! 

[The Three Young Gentlemen shake their heads in woful warn- 
ing and sing together their warning verses. Air, " The Magnet 
and the Churn," from Patience] 

This Santa Claus is a fable old, 

By unwise parents unwisely told ; 

His reindeer and stockings and Christmas-tree 

Deceive the children most wofully. 

For all the text-books we 've used at school 

Say a fact is a fact and a fool 's a fool! 

knows, stands for a Latin phrase signifying : There, now I've proved it! 

i88 3 .] 



Then down with this Santa Claus they laud; 

lie 's an utter farce and a perfect fraud! 

Children. A perfect fraud ? 

The Three Young Gentlemen. 

A perfect fraud! 

This hypothetic, peripatetic 

Person who walks abroad 

On Christmas Day, we grieve to say, 

Is really a monstrous fraud ! 

All THE GIRLS. Do you 'spose this is so? 

All the Boys. Why, it can't be, you know! 

All the Girls. 'T is too awfully awful — boo-hoo ! 

\_Drying their tears.] 

But suppose it should be? 

All the Boys. Then we 're all "up a tree." 

All the Children. With 110 Santa Claus, what can 

we do ? 

[The Three Young Gentlemen, equally moved by the children's 
grief, wring out their handkerchiefs and say] — 

All Three. Why — 

Ned. In science — 

FRED. Place reliance, — 

Ted. And give fiction hot defiance. 

All. Though your fathers and your mothers ail agree 

That there is a Santa Claus — 

Ned. Don't believe them — 

Fred. Don't — 

Ted. Because — 

All. You must never trust a thing you can not see! 

[The Three Pretty Girls, facing the window indignantly, shake 
their fingers at The Three Young Gentlemen.] 

Molly. Do you only believe what you only can see, 

Oh, you somber but stupid young gentlemen three ? 

Dolly. Why, you might as well say there 's no man 

in the moon ! 
Polly. Or deny that the dish ran away with the spoon ! 
The Three Young Gentlemen. Well, we do ! 
The Children. What? You do ? 
The Three Pretty Girls. 
But, whatever 's the use ? 

Do you think you know better than old Mother 
Goose ? 
The Three Young Gentlemen. She 's a myth ! 
Children. She 's a — what? 

The Three Young Gentlemen. Why, there is no 
1 such woman ! 

Children [ plaintively]. Now, there's no Mother 

Goose ! 
The Three Pretty Girls. This is simply inhuman. 

[The Chorus of Children, grouping dolefully and dejectedly on 
the stage. — some standing, some reclining, so as to make an 
attractive tableau, — sing their chorus to the air of "Twenty 
Love-sick Maidens," from Patience. Let The Three Pretty 
Girls stand central in tableau ] 

Chorus. Twenty homesick children we 
(This is such a bitter pill), 
Every Christmas we shall be 
Twenty homesick children still ! 
Three Pretty Girls. 

Who '11 fill the stockings in the chimney now? 

C HORUS — Ah, /// iserie ! 
If there 's no Santa Claus, in grief w r e bow. 
Chorus — Ah, miserie ! 

Alas, poor heart ! go hide thyself away, 
And mourn and mourn the death of Christmas Day. 
Chorus — Ah, miserie t 
Chorus. All our love for Santa Claus 
Falls quite flat if he is not ! 
This is of our woe the cause — 
Sad and sorry is our lot ! 

All, miserie . 
Three Pretty Girls. 

Go, breaking hearts, go, dream of Christmas jolly ! 
Go, foolish hearts, go, dream of Christmas holly ! 
Go, hopeless hearts, go, dream of vanished glory; 
And, in your dreams, forget this horrid story ! 
Chorus — Ah, miserie! 
Forget this horrid story ! 
Chorus. Twenty homesick children w r e, 
And we ne'er can merry be. 
Twenty homesick children we 
(This is such a bitter pill), 
Every Christmas we shall be 
Twenty homesick children still ! 
[Burst of merry music. Enter Fairy Bountiful ] 

I come as a light that is breaking, 

I come as a gleam in the night, 

I come as a dawn that is waking, 

I come as the sun's happy light. 

For children who mourn upon Christmas 

Must, sure, need a fairy like me, 
To dispel all the doubt and the darkness 

Of these Somber Young Gentlemen three! 
[The Waits and Children join in the Christmas carol.] 
" And all the bells on earth shall ring, 

On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day; 
And all the children for joy shall sing, 
On Christmas Day in the morning." 
Fairy \Jo The Three Young Gentlemen in window]. 
Come down here, come down here, ye skeptical band ! 

O Somber Young Gentlemen three ! 
Come, watch while I summon, with magical wand, 

The old Christmas-time wassail and glee ; 
For Christmas did come, with its mirth and its noise, 

Many years, sirs, before you were born, 
And has lived in the hearts of the girls and the boys 
From the days of the first Christmas morn ! 

[The Three Somber Young Gentlemen take their places with 
the other children at right. Fairy waves her wand.] 

Come forth from the mists of the vanishing years, 

O days that the past doth infold, 
And let each girl and boy, as the vision appears, 

Hear the joys of the Christmas of old ! 

[Enter, from left, the " Christmases past" led by the Baron's 

Seneschal [standing central]. 

[Extract from Vvither's "Juvenilia " — Time, 1600.] 

" Lo, now is come our joyful'st feast ! 

Let every man be jolly, 
Eache roome with yoie leaves is drest, 

And every post with holly. 
Now all our neighbours' chimneys smoke 

And Christmas blocks are burning; 




Their ovens they with bak't meats choke, 

And all their spits are turning. 

Without ye door let sorrow lie, 

And yif, for cold, it hap to die, 

Wee He bury 't in a Christmas pye — 

And evermore be merry." 

[Following Sfneschal comes a boy with Christmas Candle " very 
large and long," two boys with the Boar's Head on silver 
salver — this may be made of paper and trimmed with greens — 
and the girl with the great Christmas Pie, Court -Jester 
follows behind. Some appropriate music here. Then Jester 
comes forward and speaks.] 

Jester \with great wassail-cup or bowl — time 0/1550]. 
I 'm the Lord of Misrule, and though known as the Fool, 

By my pranks I gain many a tester. 
On the glad Christmas Day o'er all I hold my sway. 

Then huzzoy for the king — and his jester ! 
[Lifting wassail-cup.] 
Here 's a health to ye all, both in cottage and hall ; 

On Christmas no sorrows must pester; 
Through our wassail and rout, Noel ! Noel ! * we shout ; 

And huzzoy for the king — and his jester! 

[Boys with Boar's Head come forward and repeat the old-time 
Oxford carol, date unknown.] 

First Boy. "Caput apri de/ero, reddens laiides Domino ! 
Second Boy. " The boar's head in hand bring we, 
With garlands gay and rosemary; 
I pray you all sing merrily. 
First Boy. "Qui este in convivio. 
Second Boy. "Our steward he hath provided this, 
In honor of the King of Bliss ; 
Which on this Christmas served is, 
/;/ Rcgi nem 1 a trio. 
First Boy. "Caput apri de/ero, reddens laudes Domino! 
Second Boy. " The boar's head," etc. 
Jester [extract J'rom Heri'LcUs "Christmas" — Time, 
" Come, bring with a noise, my merry, merry boys, 
The Christmas lug to the firing; 
While the good dame she bids ye all be free, 
And dance to your heart's desiring." 

Girl, yvtth Christmas Pie [also adapted from Merrick], 
"Christmas Day is here — bring the white loaf near; 

And while the meat is a-shredding 
For the rare mince-pie, and the plums stand by 

To fill the paste that's a-kneading" — 

[The Jestfr repeals his verse as above, "Come, bring with a 
noise," and enter boys dragging in the " Yule Log." As the 
Jester concludes, the Waits, coming forward, sing the old 
carol, " Welcome, Yule." Time of Henry VI., 1450.] 

" Welcome be thou, Heavenly King, 
Welcome born on this morning, 
Welcome, for whome we shall sing, 
Welcome, Yule ! 

"Welcome be ye. Candlemas, • 

Welcome be ye, Queen of Bliss, 
Welcome both to more and less, 
Welcome, Yule ! 

" Welcome be ye that arc here, 
Welcome all and make good cheer, 
Welcome all another year. 
Welcome, Yule ! " 

The Seneschal {standing central repeats an extract 
from Withers "Juvenilia-''], 

" Then wherefore in these merry days 
Should we, I pray, be duller ? 
No, let us sing our roundelays, 
To make our mirth the fuller. 

"Though others' purses be more fat, 
Why should we pine or grieve at that ? 
Hang sorrow ! Care will kill a cat ! 
And, therefore, let's be jolly. 

" Without the door let sorrow lie, 
And yf, for cold, it hap to die, 
Wee'Ie bury 't in a Christmas pye, 
And evermore be merry ! " 

[" Christmases past" draw to one side, right. Fairy Bountifl'l, 
central, waves her wand and says| — 


This for the Past. Now let the Christmas joys, 
That fill the Present, greet the girls and boys. 

[Sleigh-bells heard without.) 

*An old-time shout of joy at the Christmas-tide. 



Chorus of Children. 

[Air, "Lightly Row.") 

Hark how clear, sweet and clear, 

Christmas sleigh-bells jingle out; 

Now in joy, girl and boy, 

Ring the welcome shout! 

Hail to Santa Claus, whose voice 

Bids each youthful heart rejoice; 

• Children cheer, shout it clear, 

Santa Claus is here ! 

[Enter Santa Claus, with a bound. He comes to the front with 
lively motion, both hands extended, and sings with spirit.] 

[Air, " I 'm called Little Buttercup," from Pinafore.} 

I 'm called Mr. Santa Claus, — dear Mr. Santa Claus, — 

Though I could never say why ! 

But still I 'm called Santa Claus, — dear Mr. Santa 


Jolly old Santa Claus, I ! 

1 've toys and I 've trinkets, I 've crankums and 
I 've presents for good children all ; 
I 've straps for the bad ones and mops for the sad 
I 've something for large and for small. 

I 've got a big pack full, with every gimcrack full, 

A Christmas-tree here in the hall ; 
And to all your bright faces, so glowing with graces, 

I sing: Merry Christmas to all! 
Chorus [Santa Claus and Children]. 
I 'm ) 

He 's S 

called Mr. Santa Claus, 

Dear Mr. Santa Claus — 

> could never 

Though < 

{ tell why ; 
1 < ? cuuiu never <. . J 

( why we > ( quite see ; 

But still J , ,_ > called Santa Claus, 

Dear Mr. Santa Claus, ( I. 

Jolly old Santa Claus, \ he. 

[He joins hands with the children, and they all dance around once, 
leaving Fairy Bountiful and The Three Somber Young 
Gentlemen in the middle.] 

Fairy. Well, what do you say now, about Christmas 
Day now — 
O Somber Young Gentlemen three ? 
Will you strike from the year, sirs, all the fun you 
see here, sirs, 
And the Christmas Day frolics so free ? 
[The Three Young Gentlemen bow low to Fairy Bountiful.] 
Ned. O sweet Mistress Fairy, 

So winsome and airy — 
Fred. No longer all somber are we ! 
Ted. Christmas Day is a pearl, ma'am. 

[They spring to the sides of The Three Pretty Girls, and with 
a courtly salute each Young Gentleman leads forward a Prettv 

All Three Young Gentlemen. 

And with each Pretty Girl, ma'am, 
We 're as jolly as jolly can be ! 

Fairy. What — jolly? 

Children [pointing at them]. Yes — jolly! 

[The Three Somber Young Gentlemen and The Three Pretty 
Girls, in joyful chorus] — 

As jolly as jolly can be ! 

[Here let a large gilt star, previously arranged, appear above the 
house-top. Enter The Three Kings of Orient. Let them 
sing the old carol, " We three kings of Orient are," the children 
all joining in the chorus, turning toward the star. Then let the 
Fairy, stepping central, say — from Adelaide A. Proctor's 
"Christmas Carol "] — 

" The Eastern Kings before him knelt, 
And rarest offerings brought ; 
The shepherds worshiped and adored 
The wonders God had wrought. 

" But the star that shone in Bethlehem 

Shines still and shall not cease, 
And we listen still to the tidings 

Of Glory and of Peace ! " 
Santa Claus [stepping forward']. 

You who would mar the children's joy, 

Their childish trust dispelling, 
By casting doubts on Santa Claus 

And " facts " forever telling — 
Remember this : The Christmas-tree 

Is ever green with glory, 
And childish love will ever cling 

Around the " old, old story." 
He who would break must first prepare 

Some more inviting face, sirs; 
Tell me, I pray, on Christmas Day, 

Who '11 take old Santa's place, sirs ? 

Good-bye — good-day — 

[Murmurs among the children. Santa Claus turns quickly, as if 
he heard a complaint] — 

What 's that you say ? 

Children. You said, " a Christmas-tree," sir ! 

Santa CLAUS [as if recollecting something]. 

Oh, so I did ! It must be hid. 

We '11 find it, I '11 agree, sir. 

[Seizing the Fairy's wand and waving it gracefully.] 

Burst now, O gate — the children wait, 

To bear off all they 're able. 

Ho, tree, appear ! Prove, now and here, 

Old Santa Claus no fable ! 

[The house scene separates or draws off, and discloses the Christ- 
mas-tree. Mount the platform of the tree on rollers ; and, with 
light cords attached, the tree can now be moved to ils proper 
place in center of the stage by seemingly invisible and magical 
means. This has already been done at many Christmas festivals, 
to the great delight of the children.] 

Children [delightedly]. Oh, my! Oh, see! 

Santa Claus [pointing with wand, which he afterward 

returns with a bow to Fairy]. 
There — there 's your tree ! 
The Three Somber Young Gentlemen [kneeling to 

Santa Claus]. 

We 're loyal to your cause, sir. 
Santa Claus [slyly]. Am I a fraud ? 
The Three Young Gentlemen. (Let's go abroad !) 
Children all [■vociferously]. You 're dear old Santa 

Claus, sir ! 

[All join hands and dance around Santa Claus and the Christmas- 
tree, singing the college glee, " For he's a jolly good fellow."] 

Distribution of Presents from the Tree. 




By Ella S. Sargent. 

Portland, Maine, November, 1883. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I want to write a letter 
to every boy and every girl in the world. But if I 
should write steadily to-day, and to-morrow, and 
the next day, and the next, and the next, and the 
next, I should be an old lady with dim eyes and 
trembling fingers before all the children in the 
United States were written to — and what could I 
do then about the others? 

There arc so many children ! 

I wonder, St. NICHOLAS dear, if you know how 
many there are in this beautiful country of ours, 
and have you ever, thought how much work these 
hundreds of thousands of children could do? 

I have, and that is why I want to write them. 

Oh ! a bright thought has come to me. It tells 
me what to do about my letters. 

"St. NICHOLAS is your man!" it cries. "He 
has a printing-press. He can print more letters 
in one day than you can write in a hundred years. 
Write one letter to him and ask him to print a 
hundred thousand like it." 

Will you do it, you kind, bright, loving child's 
friend? Will you say in every one, "Read this 
letter to your neighbors; call them together, — 
big girls and little girls, big boys and little boys, — 
and tell them there is work for them to do " ? 

If you will, please write in this way : 




MY DEAR, DEAR Friends: Do you know what 
a " club " is ? 

I hear your answer echoing back from all the 
cliffs and hills of our land, and the sea-breeze brings 
it to me faintly from the countries far away : 

" You get a lot of people to belong, and you 
have a president and rules, and pay so much to 
join, and vote, and " 

Yes, that is it ; you all know what a " club " is. 

Now I want to write you about a club — a true 
club — a very proper and thoroughly organized 
club, eleven months old ; and you may believe 
every word, for it all happened right here, in Port- 
land, Maine, less than a year ago. 

On Sunday, December 10, 18S2, a lady sitting 
in a warm, cozy room, while the wind whistled 
about the house, rattling the windows, and piling 
the snow-flakes in deep drifts across the steps and 
against the fences, was thinking of the houses up 
on The Hill, and down at Gorham's Corner, and 
in Salem Lane, which had no steam radiators, no 
glowing grates, no double windows to keep out 
these searching winter winds. 

She thought, too, of the little children in those 
houses and, as it was December, of the joyous 
day coming -so soon, — the day for giving gifts all 
the world over, — and wondered if in those houses 
little bare feet would spring out of bed, and dance 
across to the chimneys in the dim dawn of Christ- 
mas morning; if numb, blue fingers would eagerly 
snatch down shabby, faded stockings, and find 
that St. Nicholas had really been there ; if, later 
on, fathers and mothers, with brothers and sisters, 
and babies in their high-chairs, " for just this one 
day," would come gayly around dinner-tables, 
where plump Christmas turkeys lay at one end, 
and plum puddings, were ready for the other, 
and huge stacks of oranges, nuts, and apples rose 
in the middle ; and if, in the evening, there would 
be great mysteries in the parlors, a fragrance of 
spruce, an exciting rustling of paper parcels, 
mothers slipping slyly in and out of the doors with 




hands hidden behind them, a general scurrying 
about — and then all eyes dazzled by a hundred 
twinkling candles caught in the branches of a 
graceful tree laden with toys. 

She wondered if in those houses would go up 
that wild shout of glee, 
those ringing hurrahs 
and the joyous clap- 
ping of hands she had 
so often heard. And 
as she wondered, she 
shook her head sadly, 
saying : 

"They have never 
known these pleasures, 
they never will, unless 
— oh! unless somebody 
remembers them. Why 
can't something be 
done ? I would work, 
but one person can do 
so little alone. I want 
a hundred helpers — 
where shall I find them ? " 

She thought intently for a few moments, and 
then cried: "I know! The children will do it, 
the Portland children — those who have happy- 
homes and Christmas-trees, and play-rooms full of 
toys. They will load a Christmas-tree as one was 
never loaded before ; they will spread a Christmas 
dinner which can not be eaten in one day ; they 
will do it — the warm-hearted, generous Portland 

The bells from all the churches were ringing for 

house at five o'clock, on the following Thursday 

Did they come ? 

Come ? They did not know what the call was 
for, save for a whisper about Christmas work; but 



'Freely ye have received, freely give." 

This is to certify that 

is enrolled a member of the 




^^^€d^j^i^ s, 



they came : came in pairs, in trios, in quartets 
and quintets — a whole squad from the Butler 
School ; big boys with big hearts, wee tots only 
four years old from the kindergarten — one hun- 
dred children, ready for anything. 

Oh, I wish you could have been there at the 
forming of that club ! 

A lady came forward to speak to them, and their 
voices were hushed in expectation. I can't tell you 
just what she said, but her words were beautiful. 

She spoke of their 

mto* CHRISTMAS, 1882. 




^ou are cordially invited to attend 
our Christmas Festival, 

At City Hall, Thursday, December 28th, at 2 P. M. 



Sunday-school. That was the time — that was the 
place to find the children. A number of notes were 
written, asking two or more girls and boys from 
every Sunday-school in the city to meet at that 

Christmas festivities 
every year, of their 
presents and their 
friends ; then of un- 
fortunate children 
who had fewer, some 
none, of these joys. 

When she asked: 
" Does any one here 
want to do anything 
for these others?" 
the thought that they 
could do any thing was 
new to almost all — to 
many even the wish 
was new ; but like 

! one great heart-throb 

came their answer : 

" Yes ! I ! I ! I ! I want to do something ! " 

•' Children, what can you do?" 

A pause, and then one little voice cried : 

" Dive 'em a cent ! " 




That was the first offer, but it was followed by 
many another- " Give 'em candy ! " " Give 'em a 
turkey! " "Give 'em a coat ! " — each beginning with 
that grand word, "Give." 

The result of that meeting was this : 
To form a club which should last " forever " ; to 
call it "The Children's Christmas Club"; to have 
for its motto: "Freely ye have received, freely 

The children then dispersed, to meet again on 
Saturday, at Reception Hall. 

Saturday morning brought to the hall, first, a 
meeting of grown persons, who offered their stronger 
hands, wiser heads, and deeper purses, in the work 
the children had undertaken ; but agreed that all 
that children could do should be left to them. 

And a grand support did these "elders" form, 

give " : to place the membership fee 
at ten cents, so that no child should be 
• prevented from joining because he was 
not "rich"; to make no distinction in regard to 
sect or nationality ; to permit to join the club any 
girl or boy under eighteen years of age who ac- 
cepted its principles, which were : To be ready at 
all times with kind words to assist children less 
fortunate than themselves ; to make every year, 
in Christmas week, a festival of some kind for 
them; to save through the year toys, books, and 
games, instead of carelessly destroying them ; to 
save and, whenever practicable, put in good repair 
all outgrown clothing: to beg nothing from any 
source, but to keep as the key-stone of the club 
the word "Give " ; to pay every year a tax of ten 
cents ; and to make their first festival in the City 
Hall on Thursday, December 28, 18S2. 

Then came the choosing of officers, with the idea 
that the chief officers should be grown persons. 
His Honor the Mayor of Portland was elected 
President of the Children's Christmas Club. 

Others, ladies and gentlemen, were chosen for 
Vice-President, Treasurer, Secretary, Executive 
Committee, etc., etc. 


who stood ready in the background to give of their 
strength, who quietly inclosed their willing con- 
tributions to the Executive Committee, " with best 
wishes for the Children's Christmas Club." 

Instead of one hundred children, three hundred 
came to Reception Hall, eager to join the club. 
After addresses by the President and others, 
children's committees were appointed, and their 
work explained to them. 

As the children passed out in single file, each 
was registered, and received from the Secretary a 
card of membership, like that shown on page 175. 

Let us skip the busy days of preparation, when 
the Secretary of the Children's Christmas Club 
recorded twelve hundred names ; when the Park- 
street school sent in the names of one "hundred 
members who brought to their teacher books, toys, 
and clothing, to be sent to the City Hall ; when 
comfortably clad children came through the city 
bringing in their sleighs, on their sleds, in their 
arms, bundles of clothing and toys, baskets of pro- 
vision, books, sleds, skates — much that was dear 
to them, given in the spirit aitrue charity. 

One child could bring " only a plate of biscuits" ; 
another " a dozen apples for the dinner" ; one had 
no toys at home, but brought a five-cent piece she 

i88 3 .] 



had treasured "to buy somethin' for some little 
feller that has n't nothin' " ; one took all her money 
and brought to her Sunday-school teacher a painted 
candy bird-cage, and said, " I want it to go on the 
tree for some child poorer 'n me." 

And how were the children invited — those chil- 
dren who were to be the guests of the club? 

Six hundred invitations were printed. An Invi- 
tation Committee was formed to distribute these 
invitations with the greatest care to persons who 
would be responsible for every ticket ; that is, they 
gave no invitation to any child without knowing 
the parents or something of the recipient's history, 
and writing the child's name on the front of the 
card, with the giver's name on the back. 

For three days before the festival, these little 
" guests " could come to the clothing room, and 
from the donations made by the "members" 
receive boots, shoes, dresses, hoods, trousers, and 
jackets — whatever they needed to enable them 
to present a neat and orderly appearance at the 

Let us look into the City Hall at half-past one, 
on the afternoon of Holy Innocents' Day, December 
28th, the most fitting day for this children's feast. 

The gallery is reserved for those members of the 
club who have no work to do during that after- 
noon. But, beside these, no other spectators are 
admitted to the hall ; no grown persons, except the 
committees who are to assist during the festival in 
various ways. The stage supports a lofty 
tree, decorated that morning by the mem- 
bers, while, on tables behind, are heaped 
presents for six hundred children. Around 
the edge of the hall, settees have been placed 
for the guests, while the entire center is con- 
verted into a banquet-hall. 

Thirty long tables are loaded with all that 
makes Christmas dinners the best in the 
year. Ten plates are laid at each side of those 
tables. A lady is standing at the foot of every 
table ; a member of the club stands at either side 
as '' waiter." to see that no guest lacks anything. 

In the anteroom, the Reception Committee, 
consisting of fifteen boys and fifteen girls, under 
the direction of a gentleman who has consented to 
take charge of the guests, await the arrivals. 

Looking down the broad staircase, we see the 
lower hall filled with children, whose eager, up- 
turned faces are reward enough for all the labor. 

Soon the six hundred have had hats and caps 
and cloaks safely checked, and are marshaled in 
thirty lines of twenty, each line headed by one of 
the Reception Committee. The doors are thrown 
open, the band plays a march, and the long pro- 
cession files in — twenty girls, then twenty boys ; up 
and down, in and out, through the six long aisles, 
Vol. XI.— 12. 

between the tables, and twice around the hall be- 
fore the last one has entered. 

Such a line of faces, beaming with joy or timid 
with bewildered awe; rough hair smooth to-day; 
grimy hands cleanly scrubbed ; no harsh words, no 
jostling, no disorder, as rank after rank enters, and 
the quick eyes take in the beauty of the Christmas 
garlands, the towering tree, and, best of all, the 
good-will and love radiating from every face. 

Among the presents sent in was a large doll, 
handsomely dressed, to which was pinned this note: 

" If there is any little 
lame girl at the festival, 
this doll is for her." 

As the line 
wound along, a 
tender murmur 
ran through 
the hall, for 
there, lean- '- 
ing upon ^- -~j; 
came a lame 
girl, and ev- 
ery little boy 


and girl whispered on the instant. "That doll is 
for her." 

The children stood around the tables, the leaders 
taking their places at the head. 

The musicians lay aside their instruments, and 
a deep quiet rests upon those ranlft of children, 
as the President of the club rises and extends 
the Christmas greeting of the Children's Christ- 
mas Club to its guests. 

After that, a clergyman took them back to that 
day, eighteen hundred and eighty-two years before, 
when the great and cruel King Herod sent out 

1 7 8 



his decree that every child under two years old 
should be put to death, and his executioners went 
forth and slaughtered every one ; but the little 
Christ-child was saved. Saved for what ? To live 
to teach people that little children are precious to 
their Heavenly Father, and that in every little 
child is something that will live forever — the 
price of which is far above rubies. 

The band then played gayly, and the guests 
who had waited so patiently and respectfully were 
invited to partake of the feast. 

Every plate had been previously filled with a 
generous supply of turkey or chicken, and every 
table had an unfailing source of ham, tongue, 
pickles, cake, and pie, and for nearly an hour the 
little hosts and hostesses served their guests before 
conducting them to the settees awaiting them. 

You can judge best whether the dinner was ap- 
preciated, by my telling you of one little girl who, 
when asked if she preferred chicken or turkey, 
replied, " I aint never tasted chicken "; and of the 
boy who put aside, in a little pile beside his plate, 
the nicest part of everything given him. When 
asked if he did not want to eat that, he looked up 
shyly, saying, "Please, may I carry that home to 
Mother? She 's sick." 

While the children are marching around to their 
seats, those thirty tables disappear as if by magic, 
caught up by ready hands, leaving the floor clear 
for games and amusements. 

Where were the most eager faces — among the 
" members "in the gallery or the "guests" about 
the hall? Which were the happier? 

1 think there was no difference ; for when our 
hearts are full to the brim with joy, they can hold 
no more, and if screams and peals of laughter, 
and quick clapping of hands, mean joyousness, 
they were both as happy as they could be, 

There was so much to enjoy ! 

A little girl recited beautifully, " 'T was the night 
before Christmas " : a queer hobby-horse as large 
as life curveted and pranced about the hall, taking 
fright at everything, and convulsing the house with 
laughter as he waltzed in time with the music ; some 
gentlemen sang funny songs and told the most 
amusing stories; and suddenly who should appear 
but Santa Claus himself! He was " clothed all in 
fur from his head to his feet," and carried on his 
back a pack containing six hundred bags of candy. 

As the sunlight faded, a tiny ray suddenly flashed 
from the highest branch of the Christmas-tree, and 
a little voice cried, "Oh, Bessy, see the star! " 
Then another and another twinkling light crept 
out, till the graceful Christmas-tree stood transfig- 
ured, all agleam with light. 

A pretty device had been to tie among the 
branches "sun-bows, "as a wee one called a prism, 
and the tiny candles were reflected in a hundred 
swaying mirrors. 

A quiet awe had rested upon the children as they 
breathlessly watched the stars creep out ; but as a 
flood of light burst upon them from the ceiling, a 
grand hurrah went up. Then a strain of music came, 
soft at first, but soon swelling into a mighty chorus : 

"Praise God from whom all blessings flow." 

Where are the presents all this time ? Safely 
waiting on long tables behind the tree, where now 
each rank of twenty is led by the hosts, who have 
so cordially done their duty through the afternoon. 

Up the flight, at the left of the stage, goes the 
long procession, on to the stage, and near that 
glittering tree whose broad arms stretch out as if 
to welcome them. Then a present is laid in every 
hand, and on goes the line down the steps at the 
right, out into the dressing-rooms, and then home. 

The lame child, whom we saw when she came 
in, receives the doll sent for her; and among. the 
fathers and mothers there not one can keep back 
the, tears. 

" They slung me a pair o' skates ! " cried one boy 
who literally could not restrain his joy. 

It seemed to be always the right thing for the 
right child. Was it because they have so few, 
that any gift is precious ? 

But even this is not all: for, after they are 
wrapped in their out-door garments (which are all 
too thin), apples and oranges are slipped into their 
pockets, and packages of food for sick mothers 
are put into their hands. 

Thus closes the happy day. 

Looking up the deserted staircase, a little later, 
a gentleman saw, all unconscious of time or place, 
a child sitting there, with a doll — her first doll, 
probably — tightly clasped in her arms, gently 
swaying to and fro, crooning a soft lullaby. 

Will you print all this, St. Nicholas ? 

Will you ask your readers if there shall not be 
other Christmas clubs this year ? If all the chil- 
dren in every city, every town, and every village, 
shall not have one good dinner, one happy day, 
every year ? 

If you will do this, dear St. Nicholas, I am sure 
I may give you the thanks of all the members of 
the Portland Christmas Club, who have learned by 
experience that there is no way so sure of making 
their own hearts glad as to make glad those of their 
less fortunate brothers and sisters. 




«** -3> 

r r T 

^J^e Great- §re&t-<f i-andSDausker 
X Old AWkerjIuhlHtra. ;tt 

AVcc Mother Hi/LZnrd- 

Jtan. to the Cupboard- 
^"t /Wing the Cupfcoari tare 
JPuIIetL uiit of tKt; press 
J* gay satin. dreSS 
t/*«C ^matching Ixey golden hair- J 

-.« w,i* ,vciny a Aatj- day-hulortfl 1' < 
nere clone 7n. /tries ftW -mariy Jnctuf-ci 

by one JL-J3lzeTillfi&.^r~fi!uiSi : / 

1 rli'hJi, 

<She ^ent to tKe JBaKer> 
JFovCDoltys fresh, treai 

C^n^Lji wken. ske came back 




^'"Mk isj&^ Ae Wcnt\to tlie J3arbet«S 

W,> : . ; r 1 '' Tried on a. ^v'hite Wig _,-,-' 
I;' V if /<7i.n>l wliervVslie camt Jjack- 
<2>olly danced a fine,/<jj&* 

Olve went fo tke FroLtererS 
To T>uy her $om e fruits 

-n«L wkciv sKe ranie back- 
.T^er ~jDoll played, the lute.- 

3lie -Went to tke Tailor^ 
To buy a red coat^ 
/CA-nd -»vken- d\\-^ came ]?<lcR 
( <DolJy rode agjon- a goat- 




ue -wtemt to tl»e C-®l?'bhr'S 
"htsy "her sotwe- _g 

-Wag ^TeaSLi-Tm-^ the 

i88 3 .] 



*3ke Went to the ^Doctor's 
To get ~Ker Sortie TrvuStavd 
^A.tvcL vixen ike. came back. 
(\DoII ytiSbd eating a custard- 

*jke Went to the trarden 
Jiav- Peonies rare 
"^ZLnA -When she came back- 
^j}oll was dressing her haii*. 

*3he went to the Hatter'5 
33 get ker- new kat 
Lnd >tfkem she tame bach 
'ZDoli was scolding the Cat/- 




Jhe. Vent to ye $Frr\j>$tveS£ 

To get titi op Hiven* 
/C^ncL -when ske came fc<ic7c- 
VjFJer 1>olly -was ^pinnin-- 

ifbe -Went to ye Hosier!* 
J a buy Jver Home- )>o£e 

x^W vKetv ilve came l>aclc- 

"jpK-e ^S>m.-plin&' timid: A/crtsy 
.'.; .._/";W*.nts CtMiy noW. 1 ' 


My Dear Boys and Girls: With a view to providing some pleasant work for you, and offering a 
worthy incentive for your efforts, I make the following proposition to all young folk, from eleven to 
seventeen years.of age, who may happen to read this page of St. Nicholas : 

Make the best illustration, or set of illustrations, that you possibly can, for any one of the three poems 
on the opposite page. The sender of the best illustration, or set of illustrations, under the conditions 
stated below, will be presented by the undersigned with a prize, in money, of $20.00 ; for the second 
best drawing, or set of drawings, a prize of $10.00 will be given ; and for the third best, a prize of $5.00. 
The conditions are as follows : 

(1) The drawings must be entirely original, both in design and execution, and made without any 

(2) They must be drawn on smooth white drawing-paper or Bristol-board. 

(3) Drawings made with a pen and jet-black drawing-ink will be preferred, though pencils will be 

(4) No picture must be either wider or higher than ten inches, and all must be mailed flat ; that 
is, not rolled or folded. 

(5) Address all drawings for competition to Silas Green, care of St. Nicholas, 33 East 17th street, 
New York City. 

(6) The drawings must be accompanied with the full name, age, and postal address of the artist, 
written on a separate piece of paper, pasted lightly upon the back of the drawing. Do not send any 
letter requiring a reply. 

(7) L'nsuccessful drawings will be returned, provided full postage for the purpose has been sent. 

(S) The prizes are to be awarded by a committee of four persons chosen from the editorial and 
art rooms of- THE CENTURY Co., and the successful pictures, upon payment of the prizes named, will 
become the property of the St. Nicholas Magazine. 

(9) No drawing will be admitted for competition if received after January 15, 1884. 

If it prove advisable, the best drawing, or set of drawings (or, possibly, all the drawings for which 
prizes shall have been awarded), will be printed with the poems in St. NICHOLAS for April, 1884. 

The same artist may illustrate all the poems, if he or she so desires ; but in that case each separate 
drawing must be distinctly labeled at the bottom with the title of the poem it is intended to illustrate. 

Of course, those boys and girls who have studied drawing will use their utmost skill in preparing these 
illustrations ; but even those who have not learned how to draw are invited to send rough sketches of 

i88 3 .] 


I8 3 

what they think the pictures should be — for who knows but that this plan may bring to light a great 
original genius ? 

Now, my friends, you have all the rules set down categorically, and you are respectfully requested to 
observe them closely, for the sake of the committee of four, as well as for your own. 

Many of you will remember that the young author of " Christina Churning " published her first poem 
in St. NICHOLAS when she was a little girl of ten years. 

Let me say here that the dear Little School-ma'am and your friend Jack — who, you see, is crowded 
out this month — send their hearty greetings. Your sincere friend, 

Silas Green. 


By John Vance Cheney. 

A HAZEL-NUT hung in the top of a tree ; 
"Ha," chirped Sir Squirrel, "that fellow for 

Then he whisked his tail high over his back, 
And began to map out his plan of attack. 

" Suppose, Mr. Frisky, you take it now," 
Piped Nut-hatch up from a handy bough ; 
Then he wiped his bill and wiggled his wing, 
Ready the minute Sir Squirrel should spring. 

As the two sat sharply eying each other, 
Along came a boy. "Now, somehow a-nuther," 
Said he, "that nut has got to come down, 
And, just for a change, take a trip to town." 

Come down it did ; while squirrel and bird 
Sat so still not a hair or a feather stirred : 
The kink was all out of Sir Frisky's tail, 
And Nut-hatch's bill felt blunt as a nail. 

'T is n't best to be too certain, you see, 
About the plump nuts in the top of the tree. 


By M. F. Butts. 

Little black spinner, spin me some lace, 

Fine as fine can be ; 
I am going to dine with the butterfly 

And meet the bumble-bee. 

You know how rich the humming-bird is — 

He will be there, too ; 
I am going to wear a poppy-leaf dress 

And diamonds of dew. 

By Dora Read Goodale. 

Creak, creak ! beneath two hardened hands 
The yellow churn unflagging swings ; 

In plaided frock Christina stands 
And rocks it as she sings. 

The raftered ceiling, dark and low, 

The jutting mantel, brown with smoke, 

In seasoned timbers still can show 
Their tough, unyielding oak. 

In this wide-fronted chimney-place, 

This brick-laid hearth that glows again, 
I read the old New England race 

Christina, with her northern eyes, 
Her flaxen braids, her yellow hood, 

Can never claim the stubborn ties 
Of that rebellious blood. 

Not she, those stranger-looks confess, 
That heavy-footed, peasant tread, 

The woolen homespun of her dress, 
The quilted skirt of red; 

The grass-green ribbon, knotted thrice, 
The cotton kerchief, bordered gay, 

That colored to her childish eyes 
A Swedish gala day. 

She sings — a voice untrained and young, 
A simple measure, free as rain ; 

I follow through the foreign tongue 
The little wild refrain. 

'Little black spinner, spin away, 

And do your very best, 
That I may trim my poppy-leaf dress, 

And look as well as the rest. 

Creak, creak ! beneath her hardened hands 
The yellow churn unsteady swings ; 

Two tears drop singly where she stands, 
Unbidden, as she sings. 

TO OUR READERS. [December. 


" The Land of Fire " was completed by Captain Mayne Reid only a few weeks before his 
death. Though the manuscript arrived too late for us to present more than one drawing with 
the first installment, the succeeding chapters will be freely illustrated — the entire manuscript being 
already in the artist's hands. In one of his letters to the editor, Captain Reid wrote as follows 
concerning the story: " I have endeavored to make the tale instructive, and the information of 
Terra del Fuego conveyed by it embraces nearly all that is known of that weird land. The 
Natural History may be relied upon." 

It has been found impracticable to begin printing Miss Alcott's " Spinning-wheel " stories in 
the present issue of St. Nicholas, but the second and concluding part of the Christmas tale by 
the same author (" Sophie's Secret," page 114) will console our girl-readers for the omission of 
" Madam Shirley's Story." This, the first of the " Spinning-wheel " stories, will be given 
without fail in the January number. It should be said concerning the " Spinning-wheel" stories 
that, though they were announced as " a serial," they prove to be a series of short tales, each 
complete in itself, though all are to be printed under the one general title. At the time our pros- 
pectus was sent to the printer, Miss Alcott had in mind a serial story ; but she has since changed 
her plan and decided in favor of a series of short tales. Every number of St. Nicholas for 
1884, therefore, will contain one of these short stories, and the series will be quite as interesting 
and welcome, we trust, as a long serial would be. 

The variety and extent of Christmas attractions which our pages present this month compel 
us to omit, for once, " Jack-in-the-Pulpit," the Letter-box, the Riddle-box, and the Report of the 
Agassiz Association. These all will appear, however, in the January St. Nicholas, which also 
will be a Holiday number. The contents of this second Holiday number will include, besides 
many other delightful contributions, 'a twelve-page Christmas story by H. H., entitled " Christmas 
at the Pink Boarding-house," with pictures by Mr. Sandham ; the concluding part of the story by 
Julian Hawthorne begun in this number; and a short Christmas story by Rose Hawthorne 
Lathrop (the son and daughter of Nathaniel Hawthorne being thus represented in one number of 
St. Nicholas); the concluding chapter of Mr. Boyesen's story of '• Magnie's Dangerous Ride"; 
and the second installment of Mr. Stoddard's " Winter Fun," necessarily postponed from this issue. 

To the large number oi readers who will deplore the absence this month of the Report of the 
"Agassiz Association," we gladly promise a report of double the usual length in our next number. 
And we take the present opportunity to heartily commend this active and admirable Club to all 
who are interested in the study of Nature, whether readers of St. Nicholas or not. Under 
Mr. Ballard's enthusiastic and able leadership, the Association has grown to a membership of 
6000, embracing chapters which represent almost every portion of the United States, while many 
prominent scientists have shown their interest by according the Club their earnest aid and encour- 
agement. We take pleasure in calling special attention to the monthly reports of the Associa- 
tion, and assuring all readers that a great many very interesting accounts and items of personal 
observation from boys and girls all over- the country are given in the modest, fine type of the 
" A. A." pages. 

The January Riddle-box will contain the names of solvers of the puzzles in the November 
number. — and also the answers to the November puzzles. 


Drawn by Mary Hallock Foote. 


Vol. XI. 

JANUARY, 1884. 


[Copyright, 1883, by The CENTURY CO.; 


A Story of two Mining Camps. 

By H. H. 

When Elsie McFarland's father said, one morn- 
ing at breakfast, that he believed he would go up 
to Tin Cup and see if he could get work, Elsie 
burst out laughing, and thought he was making fun. 

"What is there so funny in that, Elsie?" said 
her father. " I thought you would be very sorry to 
have me go away." 

Elsie had been laughing so hard, she could 
not stop for a moment or two, although her father's 
tone sobered her, and his face looked so grave that 
she knew he was very far from jesting. 

" Why, Papa," she said, as soon as she could 
speak, " I was laughing at the name ' Tin Cup.' I 
thought you were joking. Is there really a place 
called Tin Cup ? The name of this town is funny 
enough, but Tin Cup is funnier." 

"Oh, yes," replied Mr. McFarland. "Did you 
never hear anybody speak of it before? It is only 
four miles from here. The man who brought 
those beautiful elk horns that are over the store 
door lives in Tin Cup. It used to be a lively 
camp, but there is n't much doing there now. 
Still it is n't so dead as this place," and Mr. McFar- 
land sighed heavily, and leaning forward, rested 
his elbows on the table and buried his face in his 

Elsie was fairly sobered by this time. Spring- 
ing out of her chair, she ran to her father's side 
and, putting both her arms around his neck, ex- 
claimed : 

" Dear Papa ! don't cover up your face that 

way. What is the matter ? " and the tears came 
into Elsie's eyes so fast and so big, she had hard 
work to keep from crying outright. She knew 
only too well what was the matter. It was many 
months now since she had known that her father 
was getting poorer and poorer; that the whole 
town was getting poorer and poorer, and all the 
people who had money enough to take them away 
were leaving. Every day she noticed one or two 
more houses shut up, boards nailed across the 
doors and windows, and the people gone. It was 
very dismal ; but Elsie would not have minded 
the dismalness of it, nor the loneliness, if that had 
been all. But it was not. Her father was a store- 
keeper, and they had nothing to live on except the 
profits he could make on selling goods ; so, as the 
people in the town grew fewer and fewer, and those 
who were left behind grew poorer and poorer, the 
business at the store fell off, until sometimes many 
days would pass without a person coming in to buy 
anything, and Mr. McFarland did not know what 
to do. 

In a few moments he lifted up his head, and 
said: " Never mind, Elsie. You are a brave little 
girl, and a great comfort to Papa. We shall pull 
through, somehow; but it looks as if I 'd have to 
go and leave you alone here for awhile, and I 
hate to do that." 

"Oh, I sha'n't mind it, Papa." answered Elsie. 
"So long as Mrs. Christy stays, I wouldn't be a 
bit afraid. I can call right through into her room 




from mine, the house is so near. And if you 're 
only going to be four miles away, that isn't far. 
Shall you keep a store in Tin Cup ? " and Elsie 
laughed again, in spite of her sorrowful heart, at 
the idea of keeping store in a " Tin Cup." 

Air. McFarland shook his head. 

"No, Elsie," he said, "there is n't anything 
more to be made out of store -keeping in Tin 
Cup than here. I was thinking about working in 
the Silver Oueen mine. They want more hands 

Elsie turned pale, and made no reply. Her face 
was full of woe. At last, she gasped, rather than 
said : 

" Oh, Papa ! In a mine?" 

"Yes, dear," her father replied. "I am afraid 
I must, unless I can find somebody to buy this 
cabin and store, and that is n't any way likely. 
But I sha'n't go for a month yet, and perhaps some- 
thing else may turn up. So don't you worry about 
it, child. Alining is n't any worse than lots of other 
things," and he pushed back his chair and, kissing 
Elsie, went out of the room. 

Elsie did not stir. She folded her arms and 
stood leaning on the back of her father's chair, 
with her eyes fixed on the floor. 

"In a mine ! " she kept saying to herself. " My 
papa work in a mine ! " And she recalled the 
miners she had seen in the store, rough, dirty, ill- 
clad men, who drank whisky, smoked pipes, and 
talked in loud, coarse voices. " My papa be a 
miner ! I'd almost rather he 'd die ! " and Elsie 
broke into a paroxysm of loud crying, and sank 
into the chair. 

" Whisht now, honey, what's afther makin' yees 
cry ? It 's killin' yersilf ye '11 be if yer cries loike 
that. Whisht now a bit, an' tell me what 's 'ap- 
pened," cried Mrs. Christy, the good-natured Irish 
woman, whose cabin stood only a few feet from the 
McFarland's house, and who had been Elsie's 
stanch friend ever since they had moved into the 
town. But Elsie turned away from her now with 
an instinctive feeling that this was a grief she could 
not confide to any one, least of all to Mrs. Christy. 
Mrs. Christy would not understand why the being 
a miner should seem to any one a terrible thing. 
Her husband had been a miner, and her two eldest 
boys were working in a mine now. In fact, they 
were the very men whose faces, clothes, and gen- 
eral behavior had given poor Elsie a great part of 
her unspeakable dread of a miner's life. 

"It 's nothing I can tell, Mrs. Christy. I 
could n't tell anybody. And I 'm silly to cry ; but 
it came on me all of a sudden," said Elsie, jump- 
ing up, wiping away her tears, and beginning to 
clear off the breakfast -table. "You wont praise 
me for a housekeeper any more, if you come in 

and find me sitting down to cry, and leaving my 
work undone at this time in the morning." 

"An' it 's mesilf that 's always a-praisin' ye for a 
housekeeper," retorted Mrs. Christy, "an' always 
will be ; ye 've got the stiddiest head I ever see on 
young shoulders, ez I 've said a hunderd times ef 
I've said it onc't; an' if ye 'd ease yer thrubble by 
tellin', it 's more 'n loikely I cud help ye." 

" No, thank you, Mrs. Christy, not this time," 
said Elsie, now quite herself again. "But if I did 
need help, you may be sure that there is nobody 
in the town I 'd ask it of so soon as of you. I was 
telling my father only this morning that I 'd never 
feel afraid, even if I were alone in the house, so 
long as you lived next door." 

"An' wull ye may ! " Mrs. Christy replied, much 
flattered. "I'm yer woman, whin ye want me, 
that 's sure ; but I 'd hate to see ye a-atin' yer 
heart out with a sorrer ye 'd not shpake about. 
Shpache is a grate easemint to the feelin's, my 
dear, ez ye il learn whin yer older. An' don't 
ye ever misremember that I 'm here whin ye 
want me," and the good soul whisked back to her 

Elsie McFarland was indeed, as her father had 
said, a brave little girl, and, as Mrs. Christy had 
said, a housekeeper with a "stiddy" head on her 
shoulders. She was only fourteen years old, and 
so small that she did not look more than twelve, 
but for a year she had taken all the care of her 
father's house, and had done all the work except 
the washing and ironing. 

When Elsie's mother died, Mr. McFarland ex- 
pected to go into a boarding-house to live ; but, to 
his great surprise, Elsie implored him to continue 
to live in their own little house, just as they had 
been living. 

" I know I can do all the work, just as Mamma 
did," she said. "I always helped her do it. I 
know just how she did everything. Oh, try me, 
Papa, just try me. Try me one week. Don't let 
us give up our house. It will be dreadful not to 
have a house of our own." 

Finally, Mr. McFarland consented to make the 
experiment. He felt as Elsie did, that it would be 
a dreadful thing not to have any house of their 
own; and he knew, even better than Elsie, how 
uncomfortable would be the very best boarding- 
place that could be found. But he did not believe 
the child realized what she was undertaking, or 
would be strong enough to do the work. He did 
not know how much she had helped her mother 
for the last two years. In fact, Mr. McFarland 
never knew as much as he ought to have known 
about what was going on in his own house. Mr. 
McFarland was a dreamer. He had come to Colo- 
rado thirteen years before, when Elsie was a baby. 



He had brought with him from the East thirty 
thousand dollars, and had been sure that in a very 
few years he would make a large fortune and 
go home to live. Mrs. McFarland had from the 
outset opposed the plan of coming to Colorado. 
She had much more common sense than her hus- 
band, and believed most firmly in the good old 
proverb of "letting well enough alone." 

" You have a good business where you are, 
husband," she said; " and a good home. Every- 
body knows and trusts you. It is wiser to stay." 

" But it takes a life-time to make a fortune 
here," Mr. McFarland would reply. " And out 
in Colorado it is sometimes made in a day ! Once 
there, I can put my money into mines, and let it 
be turning over and over, while I make our living 
by a store." 

And now the thirty thousand dollars was all 
gone. In one unlucky speculation after another, 
in mine after mine, smelter after smelter, a few 
hundreds here and a few thousands there, it had 
melted away, and nothing was left "to show for 
it," except a " claim " or two in the Elk mountain 

In all this time, Mrs. McFarland had never 
been heard to complain ; but she had grown weaker 
year by year. As they went slowly down in the 
scale of living, she accepted each change without 
any murmur ; but when it came at last to living 
in a log cabin in a mining camp, and doing with 
her own hands all the necessary work, her strength 
proved unequal to it ; and when the first severe 
winter weather set in, she took cold and, after only 
three days' illness, died. The doctors said it was 
of pneumonia ; and that was, in one sense, true, 
for she certainly had pneumonia. But the pneu- 
monia would not have killed her if she had not 
been feeble and worn-out by her twelve years of 
hard work and unhappiness. Her death was so 
sudden, that Elsie never fully realized that she 
would not see her mother again. She was away 
from home at the time, having gone to spend a few 
days at the Chieftain mine, twelve miles distant. 
The manager of this mine was an old friend of 
her father and mother. He had recently mar- 
ried, and brought his pretty young wife out from 
the East to live in a log cabin at the mouth of the 
mine. She was exceedingly lonely, and often used 
to implore Mrs. McFarland to "lend" Elsie to her 
for a week. And hard as it was for Mrs. McFar- 
land to be without Elsie, even for a day, she never 
refused to let her go ; for she pitied the poor young 
bride, who had come straight from New York City, 
with all its gayeties and comforts, to this bare log 
cabin on a mountain-top. 

" If I had had to take it so sudden as that," Mrs. 
McFarland once said to her, " I should not have 

borne it half so well as you do. I 've come to it by 
slow degrees, and that 's been hard enough, 1 '11 
confess. If I had two daughters, I 'd almost let 
you have one all the time." 

Elsie had been away only two days when her 
mother was taken ill. As it seemed to be nothing 
more than a severe cold, Mrs. McFarland would 
not send for the child, though her husband was 
anxious to go immediately. Very bitterly he after- 
ward regretted that he had not done so ; for poor 
little Elsie could never understand why it was, and 
her cries of "Oh, Papa, oh, Papa! why didn't 
you let me see my Mamma before she died?" 
almost broke his heart. 

The people in the town were exceedingly kind 
to both Elsie and him. Several begged him to come 
and make his home with them. Everybody had liked 
patient, gentle Mrs. McFarland, and everybody 
loved Elsie, for her gay and cheery ways. They 
did not like Mr. McFarland quite so well. They 
thought he held himself a little aloof from them. 
That is never a popular course anywhere, but of 
all places in the world most unpopular in a mining 
camp. It was not really true of Mr. McFarland, 
at all. He had no idea of holding himself aloof; 
but he wore better clothes than the other men in 
the camp, his habitual speech was more refined, 
and he did not drink whisky ; and these things 
made a barrier between him and the rest, in spite 
of all his kindliness and good fellowship. 

And so it came about that after the first outburst 
of sympathy for him, at the time of his wife's 
death, had spent itself, and it had come to be an 
old story in the camp about "poor McFarland, livin' 
there all alone with his little gal," he was left more 
and more alone ; and this really had something to 
do with the falling off in his business, though Mr. 
McFarland did not know it. There was a sort of 
store over at Tin Cup, a combination of whisky 
saloon and store, where most of the common gro- 
ceries, and a few of the cheaper dry goods, could 
be bought ; and the Red Jacket men had gradually 
fallen into the habit of making their purchases 
there whenever they could "make it come in their 
way," as they said. 

'• I '11 be goin' over to Tin Cup before long ; if 
you can get along till then, we might as well trade 
at Ben Holladay's," many a man said to his wife 
when she asked for money to buy something ; and 
the wife was very sorry to get the reply, for she 
knew it meant that her husband would lounge 
around in Ben Holladay's store, incur habits and 
associations that were not good for him, and very 
possibly come away, after all, without buying the 
thing she had asked for. 

No one who has not seen a mining "camp" can 
have the least idea of what a strange sort of town 




it is, and what a strange life the miners' families 

It does not take many days to build the kind of 
town miners are willing to live in, and they don't 
care what sort of a place they put it in, either, if it 
is only near the mines. It may be in the very midst 
of a pine forest, or out on the steep, bare side of a 
mountain, all stones and rocks. They cut down 
a few trees, and leave all the stumps standing; or 
they clear away the biggest of the stones, enough 
to make a sort of street ; and then every man 
falls to and builds the cheapest house he can. in 
the quickest way : sometimes of logs, sometimes 
out of rough boards ; often with only one room, 
very rarely with more than three. When they wish 
to make them very fine, they make the end front- 
ing the street, what is called a " battlement front " ; 
that is, a straight square wall, higher than the 
house, so as to convey the impression that the 
house is much bigger than it is. It is a miserable 
make-believe, and goes farther than any other one 
thing to give to the new towns in the West a 
hideous and contemptible lookJ These log cabins, 
board shanties, and battlement fronts are all crowd- 
ed as near together as they can be, and arc set 
close to the street: no front yards, no back yards, 
no yards at the side, — but, around the whole set- 
tlement, a stony wilderness. It is n't worth while 
tcput anything in order, because there is no know- 
ing how long the people will stay. Perhaps the 
mines will not turn out to be good ones ; and then 
everybody will move away, and in very little more 
time than it took to build up the town it will be 
deserted. There are a great many such deserted 
towns in Colorado and California. They always 
seem to me to look like a kind of graveyard. 

The town of Red Jacket, in which the McFar- 
lands lived, was named for the Red Jacket mountain 
near which it stood ; in fact, it was close to the 
base of the mountain. At the time Mr. McFar- 
land moved there, a tremendous excitement had 
arisen about Red Jacket mountain. Silver ore 
had been found there, so rich that men said the 
whole mountain must be made of solid silver. 
From far and near, people rushed to Red Jacket. 
Whole mining camps in the neighborhood were 
deserted in a week; everybody "moved to Red 

A brisk, busy little town was built, and, in less 
than a month, two thousand people were living 
there. Every foot of the mountain was staked out in 
"claims," and hundreds of piles of rock and earth 
thrown out in all directions showed how many were 
at work. This was one year before the time at which 
our story begins. Very soon, people began to find 
out either that their claims were not good for any- 
thing or that it needed so much machinery to get 

the ore out that they could not afford to work 
their mines. Red Jacket mountain was not made 
of solid silver, by any manner of means. Then 
the camp began to dwindle. Man after man sold 
out his claim for a song, if he could find somebody 
to take it off his hands ; family after family moved 
away, until there were not more than two hundred 
souls, all told, in the town, and more than three- 
quarters of the houses were empty. 

No wonder Mr. McFarland was discouraged. Of 
his own two " claims," one had proved to be worth- 
less, the other was in a rock so difficult to work 
that nothing could be done with it without spending 
thousands of dollars on machinery ; the store, which, 
in the time of the camp's biggest "boom," Mr. 
McFarland had spent nearly his last dollar in stock- 
ing, had ceased to bring in any reliable income, 
and was now bringing in less and less each day. It 
looked as if the owner would be left alone with a 
large quantity of unsalable goods. The winter was 
near at hand, and after it had once set in, there would 
be no going out of or coming into Red Jacket. 
By the first of November, the snow would be from 
ten to twelve feet deep, all roads closed, and no 
getting about except on snow-shoes. The poor 
man sat in his silent and deserted store, day after 
day, brooding over this state of things, and unable 
to devise any scheme for bettering himself, till he 
was nearly out of his wits. Then he would go 
home to the little log cabin, and find it clean and in 
order, and the simple meal well cooked and neatly 
set out on the table by the affectionate Elsie, always 
so glad to see him, and so guilelessly proud of her 
housekeeping, and he would feel more self-reproach 
than ever that by his folly and lack of judgment 
he had brought so sweet a child into such straits. 

It was in one of these discouraged and remorse- 
ful moments that he exclaimed to Elsie, at break- 
fast, that he believed he would go up to Tin Cup 
and look for work. The more he thought of it, 
the more sensible the plan looked. In truth, it 
was the only way he could see of being sure of 
money enough to support Elsie and himself through 
the winter. In the spring, people might come back 
to the camp again, and he might sell his goods. 

Elsie's grieved and astonished cry, " Oh, Papa ! 
In a mine!" had cut him to the heart; but he 
tried to forget it. and he resolved that she should 
never see him in his miner's suit. The thought of 
leaving her alone in the cabin through the long 
and dreary winter was terrible to him ; but he re- 
flected that she would be safe there ; he could see 
her every Sunday ; and good Mrs. Christy, within 
call by day and night, would keep as close watch 
over her as if she were her own child. The tears 
came into his eyes as he thought to himself: "It 
has really come to this, that a poor ignorant Irish- 



woman is the very best friend I have to trust my 
little daughter to." 

Poor Mr. McFarland ! It was a sore secret that 
lay between him and his little girl for some days 
after his suggestion of the Tin Cup project. Each 
was thinking of it, and knew the other must be, 
but neither would speak of it. Perhaps it was as 
well. Both father and daughter were being, by 
these sad and secret thoughts, prepared for the 
inevitable. And when it came they were able to 
meet it more calmly. 

When, a week later, Mr. McFarland said to Elsie: 
"I have been up to Tin Cup, Elsie, and got the 
place 1 was speaking of, and I shall go the first of 
next month. Will you be afraid to stay here alone ? 
I shall come down to see you every Sunday, "— 
Elsie replied, with only a little quiver of her lip : 
"No, indeed, Papa; I shall not be afraid. I only 
wish there was something I could do to earn money, 
too. I Ye been trying to think of something ; but I 
can't think of anything." 

"My dear child," said Mr. McFarland, "don't 
worry yourself about that. You are all the comfort 
Papa has left to him in this world. You just keep 
up courage, and I think better times will come be- 
fore long. I don't want you to earn money ; what- 
ever happens, Papa will always have enough to 
take care of you." 

This he said to cheer Elsie, but in the bottom 
of his heart he did not feel sure of it. 

Only three weeks were left before the time fixed 
for him to go to Tin Cup, and there were so many 
things to be done to make Elsie comfortable for the 
winter, that it kept him busy enough till the last 
minute. In the first place, he cut and split and piled 
up a quantity of wood for her to burn. He piled it 
so high that Elsie said the wood-pile looked bigger 
than the cabin, as indeed it did. Besides this big 
pile out-of-doors, he filled one small room in the 
house full of wood, to be used when the weather 
was too bad or the snow too deep for her to get to 
the big pile outside. 

The next thing he did was to get Mrs. Christy's 
permission to build a covered passage-way from 
her kitchen window to Elsie's bedroom window. 
Elsie's window he made into a door, opening into 
this passage-way, and then he built steps at the 
end which joined Mrs. Christy's house, so that, by 
going up these steps, Elsie could get into Mrs. 
Christy's kitchen through the window. When 
Elsie found that this was to be done, she jumped 
for joy. " Now I wont be one bit afraid," she 
said ; and by that, her father knew that she had 
really felt a little afraid before, but would not dis- 
tress him by letting him know it. Elsie was a 
very brave and loving little girl, as you will see 
before we get to the end of the story of this winter. 

There was no difficulty about her food ; for in the 
store were barrels of flour and crackers and sugar 
and salt pork, and shelves full of canned fruits, 
vegetables, and meats. When Mr. McFarland had 
carried in as much of all these as he thought Elsie 
could use, and had arranged them on shelves and in 
the corners of the room, the place looked more like 
a shop than like the living-room of one little girl. 

Elsie thought so herself. "Why, Papa," she 
exclaimed, " it looks just like a little store ! What 
made you bring in so many things ? Why could n't 
I go to the store when I wanted things ? Or you 
could get them out for me Sundays, when you 
come down." 

'• 1 know," replied her father. " But it wont 
do any harm to have them all here. There may 
be such deep snows that I can't get down some 
weeks, and you can't get out. I 'd feel easier to 
know that you have everything under this roof 
that you could need for the whole winter." 

" Well, I 'm sure I have," answered Elsie, look- 
ing around. "I should think I 'd enough for a 
whole year. I 've enough to take boarders ! 
You '11 see there '11 be lots left when you come 
home in the spring." 

"Papa," she continued, •'can I get anything 
else out of the store, if I want to ? I don't mean 
things to eat, but other things." 

'■ What is there in the store that you want, 
Elsie?" said her father, a little surprised. "Do 
you want a new gown ? " 

"Oh, no, no, indeed!" cried Elsie. "I have 
plenty of gowns. But there is something there that 
I 'd like to crib from ; but 1 don't want to tell you 
what it is," and she turned very red in the face. 

Mr. McFarland hesitated. He did not like to 
refuse Elsie anything, but he could not imagine 
what it could be she wanted ; and, as he had some 
valuable silks and laces in the store, he feared she 
might have set her heart on something he could 
not afford to let her have. But he need not have 
been afraid to trust his little Elsie's good sense. 
Seeing that he was hesitating, Elsie laughed out: 

'" Oh, you need n't be afraid. Papa; it is n't any 
of the nice things I want. It is only some of that 
yarn that old Mrs. Johns brought to pay for the 
flour. Don't you remember? It 's under the 
counter, in a box, a whole lot of it ; I heard you 
tell Mamma when you took it, you did n't believe 
you 'd ever sell it, it was such a horrid slaty color. 
Mrs. Johns dyed it herself. Mrs. Christy says 
she '11 teach me to knit this winter, if I can get 
the yarn. So 1 thought of that." 

" Yes, indeed, child," replied Mr. McFarland, 
and he felt quite ashamed of himself. "You can 
have that and welcome, — the whole of it." 

So when he went to the store the last time, he 




brought over the box of Mrs. Johns's yarn, and 
away down in the bottom of the box, under the 
"horrid slaty" skeins, he put in some nicer yarns, 
a big bunch of bright red and some blue, and 
green, and yellow, and a great lot of white. 

" Poor little girlie ! " he said to himself, " if she 
is going to find any pleasure in her knitting, she 
must have some bright colors to mix in." 

And so Elsie was left all alone to keep house by 
herself in the cabin, where only one year before 
she had been living, a happy, gay little girl, with her 
father and mother. It was pretty hard, but Elsie 
never stopped to think about its being hard. She 
just went to work. That is the only way in this 
world ever to bear up under things that are hard. 
Go to work, and keep busy. It is worth all and 
everything else in the way of what people call 
"consolation." That word "consolation " I never 
liked, myself. It does not seem to me to mean 
much. There is n't any such thing, to my mind, 
as being " consoled " for a real trouble. If it is 
a real trouble, it will be a real trouble always, as 
long as you live; but you can always go to work 
and keep busy, and so long as you do that the 
trouble can not get the better of you. But that 
is neither here nor there in this story about Elsie 
McFarland, except that it was the way Elsie did. 
How the wisdom came to her, I don't know. No- 
body had ever told her, and she never put it into 
words to herself. It simply seemed to her the 
natural way to do. 

Her head was full of plans of what she would 
accomplish in the winter. She was going to learn 
to knit, for one thing. She already knew a great 
many ways of crocheting, but she was going to 
learn to knit stockings and mittens, and perhaps a 
bed-spread like one Mrs. Christy had once shown 
her. She was going also to learn to cook a great 
many things ; she now knew how to cook only a 
few simple dishes. 

" 1 mean to have some one new thing for Papa 
every Sunday when he comes down," she said. 
"I 'II go right straight through Mamma's cook- 
book ; only, the worst of it is, most of the things 
take eggs, and there wont be any eggs very often. 
I remember Mamma used to say she wished some- 
body would make a cook-book of good things for 
poor people," and Elsie sighed and felt sad as she 
recalled the days when she used to help her mother 
in all the household work. 

There was another air-castle in Elsie's mind, — a 
beautiful secret which gave her joy whenever she 
thought of it. In one of the trunks where her 
mother's clothes had been put away was nearly a 
whole piece of cotton cloth, a half dozen linen 
bosoms and collars and cuffs, and, nearly finished, 
one shirt, on which Elsie had been at work just 

before her mother died. Three more shirts were 
cut out, and Elsie's air-castle was to cut out two 
more, and have a half dozen nice new shirts all 
ready for her father in the spring. She had been 
meaning to go to work on them all through the 
summer, but summer days were great temptations 
to Elsie ; there was nothing she loved better than to 
ramble in the canons and grassy hill slopes, and 
gather flowers. Red Jacket was a wonderful place 
for flowers ; such fields full of purple asters were 
never seen anywhere else in the world. I do believe. 
They were as thick as clover in a clover field, and 
looked like a solid surface of beautiful purple. 
Then there were dozens of other flowers, red and 
blue, and white and yellow, some of which are not 
to be found anywhere outside of Colorado. Elsie 
was never tired of arranging great bouquets of 
them. She put them in the window-seats, on the 
shelves, on the table, in the fire-place, till some- 
times the little cabin looked like a garden. 

So, while the summer lasted, Elsie had not found 
time to sew. After her housework was done, she 
had usually rambled off after flowers. When her 
own room was as full as it would hold, she would 
bring bunches to Mrs. Christy, who did not care 
much for them at first, but after a time began to 
notice their splendid colors, and to like them for 
their own as well as for Elsie's sake. Mrs. Christy 
loved Elsie with all the strength of her warm Irish 

" Indade, an' she 's more to me, thin, than I 'm 
loikely to be to her, an' that 's the thruth," she 
replied to Mr. McFarland, when, on the morning 
he set off for Tin Cup, he had told her how grate- 
ful he felt for her kindness to Elsie, and that he 
felt easy to leave the child in her protection. 

" An' it 's no great purtectin' she nades," she 
added, looking after Mr. McFarland as he walked 
slowly and sadly away. " To my way o' thinkin', 
it 's pertectin' yees she '11 be, an' not so long time 
first, nayther. There 's more o' the makin' uv a 
man in her than ye 've got yersilf ! " 

But we have run away from Elsie's air-castles. 
There were the knitting, the cooking, the shirt- 
making, these three ; then there was one other, 
which I dare say many of you will think was the 
queerest of all : Elsie was going to learn to wash. 
This also was a secret from her father. He had 
arranged with Mrs. Christy to continue to do the 
washing, as she had hitherto done, and Elsie had 
said nothing; bui in her own mind it was all 
arranged that, as soon as her father had gone, she 
would coax Mrs. Christy to teach her how to do 
it herself. 

" And then I can do up the shirts as fast as they 
are finished," thought Elsie, " and that will be the 
greatest surprise of all to Papa." 



And so Elsie entered on her winter. It was the of them were shoveled clear, so as to let the light in. 

first of October when her father went away. In The covered passage-way between Elsie's room and 

less than a»month, the snow came ; day after day Mrs. Christy's kitchen was buried up entirely, so 

it snowed soft, steady, and still, until nothing could that it looked like nothing but a snow-drift. 

be seen of the Red Jacket cabins except their roofs, 
chimneys, and, in some of the higher ones, the 
upper halves of the windows. To the door of every 
inhabited cabin a long passage-way, like a tunnel, 
was dug through the snow, and the windows in some 

There is something beautiful as well as terrible 
in such a winter as this. The surface of the snow 
shines and sparkles as if it were made of millions 
of diamonds. It is sometimes almost as hard as 
ice, and men can glide about it on snow-shoes, 




over miles of country and from one town to another, 
as fast as they can skate. 

One of the last things Mr. McFarland had done 
for Elsie was to make her a new pair of snow- 
shoes. She had learned the art of walking on 
them the winter before, and was as fond of it as 
of sliding down hill on a sled. She often caught 
a tumble, but she only thought it all the more 
fun. Everybody in the camp liked to see her go 
skimming by, with her cheeks red and her eyes 
shining ; and there was not a boy in the camp 
who could go faster than she. 

Mrs. Christy used to stand at the window and 
watch her with mingled terror and pride. 

" Luk at her, thin ! " she would exclaim. " Is n't 
it a bind she is ! But the heart av me 's in me 
mouth, so long ez she 's got her two feet in thim 

Mrs. Christy herself had never mustered courage 
to learn to use snow-shoes. She put them on once, 
took two steps from her door, lost her balance, and 
fell headlong in the snow. 

" I '11 not timpt Providence any more," she said. 
•' 1 '11 stay in till it plazes God to lift the snows 
from aff us." And stay in she did through that 
entire winter — twelve long weeks — until the snows 

Nobody would believe how fast Elsie's days flew 
by in this strange and lonely life. She was as busy 
as a bee all day long, and in the evenings she sat 
with Mrs. Christy, knitting and listening to Irish 
fairy stories, of which Mrs. Christy knew many, so 
weird and fascinating that Elsie was never tired of 
hearing them over and over. The "slaty-colored" 
yarn proved a great success, when the gayly-col- 
ored was mixed with it ; and Elsie before many 
days had passed, had completed a pair of mittens 
with long gauntlet tops, and a splendid scarf a 
yard and a half long, for her Christmas presents to 
her father. 

These Mrs. Christy exhibited with great pride to 
her acquaintances, and the first thing Elsie knew 
she was besieged with entreaties to knit more such 
mittens for sale. This gave her real delight. Here, 
at last, was a way by which she could earn money, 
— only a little, to be sure, but it was something. 
Every one who saw the mittens wanted a pair, men 
and women alike. They would have bought twice 
as many as Elsie could have knit before spring. 

All through November, Mr. McFarland came 
down every Sunday and spent the whole day with 
Elsie. What happy days they were ! Elsie grew 
reconciled to her father's being a miner, as she 
listened to all he had to tell her of the wonderful ores 
in the mine, and how they were made into money. 
He brought her some pieces of what is called " pea- 
cock ore." It has all the colors of a peacock's 

neck in it. Elsie was never tired of holding it in 
the sun and turning it over and over. 

The first Sunday in December came a great dis- 
appointment, — instead of her father, a strange man, 
whom Elsie had never seen, bringing a note from 
her father, to say that he had hurt his foot and 
could not come down. But he hoped he should 
be well enough to come the next Sunday. The 
next Sunday came. No father. The same kind 
man, however, came all the way down to tell Elsie 
that her father's foot was much better, but still 
not strong enough for snow-shoe walking. 

By this time, all the miners in Tin Cup knew 
about the little girl left alone in the cabin at Red 
Jacket, and there was not a man of them all who 
would n't have gladly walked the eight miles to 
save her from being anxious about her father. In 
fact, after the report which the first messenger car- 
ried back, describing the neat room, cheery little 
girl, and good dinner she gave him, there was 
almost a rivalry among the men as to who should 
go next time. 

They had all become attached to Mr. McFarland 
also. They had found that he did not really mean 
to hold himself aloof from them at all ; that he 
took hold of the hardest work with good courage, 
unused as he had been to it, and that he was as 
friendly and kind-hearted as it was possible for a 
man to be. Without knowing it, or trying to do 
so, he had made dozens of friends, who were all 
ready, if he should re-open his store, to give him 
all the help they could. 

At last there were only three days left before the 
arrival of the Christmas Sunday, to which Elsie 
had looked forward so long. Her father had writ- 
ten that he would certainly be able to come down 
if it did not storm. 

"An' it 'ud niver have the heart to storm on 
the blissed Christmas, an' it comin' on a Sunday," 
said Mrs. Christy. 

"No, indeed ! " said Elsie. " I 'm sure it wont. 
I wish Christmas always came on a Sunday." And 
she danced around the room and hugged Mrs. 
Christy for very joy. 

Mrs. Christy's two boys also were coming from 
the Chieftain mine, where they worked. Elsie 
had long since got over her dislike of the Christy 
boys. She had learned how kind and good 
they were under all their roughness of manner. 
The last time they had been home, they had, 
of their own accord, brought her two splendid 
young fir-trees for Christmas greens. They cut 
the trees down, fastened them by stout ropes to 
their belts, and came shooting into camp on their 
snow-shoes, each with a fir-tree dragging twenty 
feet behind him on the snow. Such a sight had 
never been seen in Red Jacket before. Then they 

■S8 4 J 



chopped the boughs off in front of the cabin, 
brought them in, and threw them on the floor in a 
heap huge enough to trim two much bigger rooms 
than Elsie's and Mrs. Christy's. Elsie and Mrs. 
Christy worked the whole day before Christmas, 
making wreaths and long festoons ; and when all 
was done, the rooms were so changed one would 
hardly know them. Very late Elsie sat up that 
night, for she had some things to do she did 
not want Mrs. Christy to see: a nice scarf she 
had knit for each of the Christy boys, and a warm 
jacket for Mrs. Christy herself; and these were 
to be wrapped up in clean paper, and a little note 
written to go with each gift, and Elsie was a slow 
writer. It was past twelve o'clock when she crawled 
into her bed, very tired and sleepy. "It is Christ- 
mas now,'" she thought. "By nine o'clock Papa 
will be here. How he will like the greens ! We 
never had it so pretty before," and Elsie was asleep 
in two minutes. 

The next thing she knew, she heard voices talk- 
ing outside, and saw lights flashing on the ceiling 
of her room. It did not seem to her she had been 
asleep a minute. The voices grew louder, and 
more and more, and the lights kept flashing. Ter- 
ribly frightened, Elsie sprang up, and ran through 
the covered way to Mrs. Christy's room. As she 
reached the window, she heard Mrs. Christy sob- 
bing, and crying: 

"Och, an' who'll till her? Who'll have a 
harrt to till her ? I '11 niver be the one to till her ! " 

Like a flash of lightning, Elsie knew it was of her 
that Mrs. Christy was speaking, and in a second 
more she had sprung through the window, into 
the center of a group of excited men, all talking 
together, but all silent, as soon as she appeared ; 
all except Airs. Christy, who burst out crying 
louder than ever, and running to Elsie, threw her 
arms around her, and gasped out : " Och, honey, 
there 's bad news for ye. It 's a slide they 've had ! 
Och, an' who '11 till her ? " and Mrs. Christy broke 

Elsie looked from one to another. She did not 
cry, but she turned very white, and that frightened 
the men. They were used to seeing women cry, 
as Mrs. Christy was doing; but this little white- 
faced, resolute-looking child, — as one of the men 
said afterward, "it took the strength right out of 
a man to see her." 

"Is my Papa dead? Is he buried up in the 
snow-slide ? " said Elsie, speaking very loud in a 
shrill voice. " Wont somebody please tell me 
what has happened ? " and the tears began to roll 
down her cheeks. 

Then they told her all there was to tell. It did 
not take many words. A man had just come down 
from Tin Cup, running for dear life, to call all the 

Red Jacket men to come up and help dig out 
three cabins that had been buried in a snow-slide 
at midnight. The slide was a terrible one, he said. 
It had started with a sudden noise like a gun-shot, 
waking everybody in the camp. Then, with a great 
roaring sound like wind or a waterfall, the avalanche 
of snow had swept down the mountain-side, carry- 
ing away all the buildings of the Silver Queen Mine, 
and burying up three of the miners' cabins, nobody 
could tell how many feet deep. It was all over in 
the twinkling of an eye. 

Luckily, the moon was shining at the time ; 
and the people had turned out, and were digging 
as near as they could judge where the first cabin 
stood. But the snow was piled like a mountain, and 
there was hardly a hope of finding any one alive 
in the cabins. The messenger had gone on to the 
next town to get more help. While the men were 
telling all this, Elsie stood very still, her eyes turn- 
ing first to one, then to another; she did not in- 
terrupt till they stopped speaking. Then she said : 

" Are you sure my papa was in one of those 
cabins? " 

The man who had been speaking last nodded 
his head and looked away from her. He could 
not speak. 

" The man that came down, he said so," said 
another man. " He guv us the names. There 's 
ten men in the three cabins, and there 's a woman 
and baby in one. But we must be goin'. It 's a poor 
kind of a Christmas we 've got," and he glanced 
at the evergreen wreaths and boughs around the 
room. " It 's miners' luck, anyhow. But keep up 
your heart, Miss ; we '11 send a man down to tell 
ye the very fust news there is." 

Elsie did not speak nor move. She stood as if 
she were turned to stone, watching the men as 
they examined and lighted their lanterns, muffled 
themselves up. and prepared to set off. It was not 
yet four o'clock. 

"Three more hours before daylight !" thought 
Elsie. " How can they see in this awful darkness?" 

" Could n't I go with you ? " she exclaimed, sud- 
denly. " I can run fast on snow-shoes. Oh, do 
take me, so I can be there when they get my Papa 
out ! Oh, let me come I I wont be any trouble." 

" Bless your sweet eyes," cried one of the men, 
"it 's all we 'II be able to do ourselves to get 
up Coal Creek Gulch ! Ye could n't stand up a 
minute, little gal, in the wind thet blows down 
thet gulch a night like this 'ere. It 'ud take ye 
like a dead leaf off a tree." 

It was only a few minutes since the first sound 
ot voices and the flash of light in Elsie's room had 
awakened her, — only a few minutes ; but it seemed 
a thousand years. The men were all gone ; silence 
reigned inside and outside ; one flickering candle 




gave a fitful half light in the room. Mrs. Christy 
sat rocking backward and forward, occasionally 
sobbing, and looking at Elsie without speaking. 
She did not dare to say a word to her. She could 
not understand the sort of grief which neither 
cried, nor moaned, nor spoke. She was almost 
afraid of Elsie. Elsie stood still at the window, 
her face pressed against the pane. Occasionally, 
a light would flash out in the distance, twinkle 
for a few seconds, then fade away in the direction 
of the Coal Gulch road — onj more helper on the 
way to Tin Cup. In times of such disaster, min- 
ing people are all like brothers, in their eagerness 
to help and to rescue. 

Finally, Elsie turned away from the window and 
said to Mrs. Christy : 

" I think I will go back to bed again. There 
is n't anything to do." 

Mrs. Christy stared at her. She was on the 
point of exclaiming in remonstrance, but suddenly 
changed her mind, and replied : 

" An' indade, if ye can slape, it 'ud be the best 
thing for ye." 

" I don't think I shall go to sleep," said Elsie, 
"but I suppose if I could, it would be better than 
to lie thinking." 

" An' there 's no knowin' thin ; ye might jist fall 
off unawaires like, an' a dale o' good it 'ud do 
ye, darlin'. I '11 not make a sound. Ye call me 
when ye want me. I think I '11 maybe take a bit 
av a nap mesilf," said Mrs. Christy, as she helped 
Elsie over the window-sill. 

Elsie felt guiltily relieved at these words, and 
there was almost a remorseful tenderness in the kiss 
she gave to the tender old Irishwoman as she 
stepped down into the passage-way. 

For nothing was further from Elsie's mind than 
going to sleep. She had already decided on a 
plan of action, which she knew Mrs. Christy would 
oppose, perhaps even by force. Elsie had deter- 
mined to go to Tin Cup. She knew the way. 
Her father had told her where the road lay; it was 
a road on which she herself had often walked a 
long distance, gathering flowers. There were no 
such purple asters anywhere as on the hills on the 
north side of that road. The south side of it, as 
far as Elsie knew it, was a steep slope down to the 
bottom of the gulch, where ran a swift little stream, 
called Coal Creek because there were coal mines 
on the banks of it. Beyond this stream, the hill 
rose abruptly again like a precipice, and was 
covered thickly with a fir forest. Elsie never liked 
to look at that side of the gulch. The fir forest 
looked so black and gloomy, and reminded her 
of fairy stories of forests where evil gnomes and 
elves lived. 

Poor child ! If the fir forest had been grim and 

terrible to her in summer, how much more so 
would it seem now ! She little dreamed how black 
and fierce it would look with the whole country 
round about white with snow, and the sparkling 
stream hid from sight ! 

It seemed to Elsie that it would never be light. 
When the first streak of red came in the sky, she 
jumped out of bed and began to dress. By the 
time it was light enough to see distinctly, she 
was all ready. 

" How lucky that our front door is on the side 
Mrs. Christy can not see," thought Elsie, as she 
crept out, strapped on her snow-shoes, and set off. 
Nobodv in the camp saw her. All the men had 
gone to Tin Cup, and most of the women were still 
asleep as Elsie sped down the silent street. When 
she came to the corner where the road turned off 
up Coal Creek Gulch, she halted a moment, dis- 
mayed at the sight. She would not have known 
the place. It seemed to her at first that it could 
not be the way. The gulch was so filled in with 
snow that the sides did not look half so high as 
they used to look ; and there was not a trace of a 
road. No sleigh had been up Coal Creek Gulch 
for a month. 

Still, she could see the tracks where the men 
had gone that morning, on their snow shoes. 

" I can follow those tracks," thought Elsie, "and 
I can go by the trees, too. I think the fir forest 
reaches all the way up ! " and she hurried on. Oh, 
how black the fir-trees looked, and how terribly 
still it was ! Not a sound except the sound of 
Elsie's own sliding steps; and, to make it worse, 
the rising sun, which at first had shone out for a 
few minutes, soon went under a great gray cloud, 
which gradually spread and covered the whole sky. 
Elsie shuddered as she saw this. She knew what 
it meant. It was going to snow. " If it snows hard, 
I shall lose my way, surely," thought Elsie, and she 
hurried on faster and faster ; too fast, alas ! for be- 
fore long, she lost her balance on the treacherous 
snow-shoes, reeled, pitched headlong, and fell. 
Luckily, the leather bands of her snow-shoes gave 
way ; if they had not, she would have broken her 
ankles. As it was, one of them was so sprained 
that when she tried to get upon her feet, she fell 
back again, almost faint from the pain. She tried 
again and again, but each time the pain made her 
more weak and dizzy. 

" I guess I 've broken my leg," thought Elsie, 
" so now I shall have to lie here till I die. I don't 
care ; if my papa is dead, I might as well die, too." 

Scattering snow-flakes began to fall. They came 
faster and faster ; soon, it was a blinding snow- 
storm. Elsie was so cold, she could hardly move. 
Again she tried to get upon her feet. It was of 
no use ; the ankle was powerless, and the torture 

i88 4 .] 



of moving it was more dreadful each time she Elsie shrieked with the pain : " Oh, sir ! my leg ! 

tried. Elsie shut her eyes, and thought to her- Don't. My leg 's broken. I can't stand up." 

self, " Now, I will just say my prayers, and then As soon as she opened her eyes and spoke, the 

I '11 be dead pretty soon." man bent over and took another look at her face. 

A few tears rolled down her cheeks, but she " Great Almighty !" he cried. " If it aint McFar- 


did not cry hard ; in fact, she did not in any way 
suffer so much as you would have supposed. She 
was already benumbed by cold. To be frozen to 
death is not so terrible a death as the words sug- 
gest. A gentle drowsiness comes on, and the last 
thing people who are frozen know is that they feel 
like going to sleep. This was what Elsie thought. 

"Why, how queer it is," she thought. "I 
don't feel half so cold as I did. Perhaps it is 
getting warmer. I 'm so sleepy, I can't keep my 
eyes open," and that was the last Elsie knew 
till she felt a man shaking her shoulder hard, and 
pouring into her mouth some bad-tasting stuff 
that made her throat burn like fire. 

"Git up, little gal — git up!" he said, trying 
to lift her on her feet. 

land's little gal ! Excuse me, Miss," he added ; for 
even in her great pain Elsie lifted her eyes 
reproachfully at his first words. "But how in 
thunder come you here?" 

It was the man who came down to Elsie's house, 
the first time, to bring the note from her father, 
when he was hurt. As soon as Elsie recognized 
his face, she felt she had found a friend, and then, 
in spite of herself, she began to cry and sob. 

" My papa 's buried up in the snow," she said, 
"and I was going up to Tin Cup, so as to be 
there when they got him out. The men are all 
digging. Don't you know about the slide ? All 
the Red Jacket men have gone up to help : and 
I knew the way, and I could n't stay at home, 
and I was going too fast, and I fell over, and 




my leg 's broken. I 've tried and tried to get up, 
and I can't." 

Before she had done speaking, the man had cut 
her boot off from the sprained foot. As it fell, the 
relief was so great that Elsie exclaimed : 

" Oh, thank you ; it was the foot that was hurt 
— was n't it? I guess I can get up now," and she 
made a movement to try ; but the man put his 
hand on her shoulder and said : 

" I guess you can't, my gal. You 've got to let 
me carry you. We '11 fix that all right. I '11 have 
you into Tin Cup in next to no time." 

"Oh," said Elsie, "you never can carry me. 
I 'm very heavy. If you can mend the straps to 
my snow-shoes, I 'm sure I can walk." 

" Snow-shoes be hanged ! " said the man gruffly. 
"That looks like snow-shoes, don't it?" pointing 
to Elsie's foot. It frightened Elsie to see it. It was 
already much swollen, and the pain was coming 
back again worse than ever. 

" Now, jist don't you cry, little woman," said 
the man, patting her head. " You jist do as I tell 
ye, an' I 'II tow yer in 's easy 's nothin' ! You 
heavy ? " he went on. " Why, ye V no more 'n a 
skeeter ! " 

At this. Elsie gave a little smile, which seemed 
to please the man greatly. 

"Fact ! " he said. " Ef I kin onct git ye hoisted 
on my shoulders, I kin run with ye 's well 's I 
could without ye. There 's nothin' to ye, any- 

Then he picked up Elsie's snow-shoes, tied them 
together, and hung them upon a tree. 

"We '11 git them another day," he said. 
" They '11 be safe there. Aint many tramps 'round 
this kind o' weather." 

Then he took off his comforter, bound the poor 
swelled foot in it, and then, grasping his walking 
pole in his right hand, he managed with some 
difficulty to kneel down, close to Elsie, with his 
back to her. 

"There, dear," he said; "now you jist hug 
your arms tight 'roun' my neck, and hang on, 
an' I '11 git up slow, an' then we '11 be off in a 

Elsie did as she was told, and the man, with his 
strange load on his shoulders, rose slowly and care- 
fully to his feet ; but as soon as Elsie's sprained 
ankle hung at its full weight, the pain was so ter- 
rible that she could not endure it, and she gave a 
shriek, exclaiming: "Oh, my foot, my foot! Oh, 
sir, please put me down ! I can't ! " 

" Blast it all ! " said the man. " Ye poor little 
young 'un, 1 might ha' known ye could n't. I 
forgot about yer feet a hangin'," and setting Elsie 
down gently, he scratched his head and fell to 

Elsie had around her neck a small plaid shawl, 
tied on like a comforter. "Could ye git along 
without that shawl; ye '!! be putty warm up 
there close to my back hair?" he asked, laughing. 

"Oh, yes," said Elsie, taking it off at once, and 
handing it to him. 

Out of this shawl he made a kind of sling, and 
knotted it across one of his shoulders. Then, 
while still on his knees, he took the swollen foot 
and very carefully set it in the sling. 


" There," he said, " that 's the best we can do. 
It '11 help considerable to hold you up. 1 'm 
afeard it '11 hurt ye putty bad, even this way ; but 
ye '11 have to bear it 's well 's ye kin, my gal," and 
he set off at a quick pace. At first Elsie did not 
suffer much, but in a few minutes the pain grew so 



severe that she could not keep from groaning, 
though she tried very hard to desist. 

"Don't mind my groaning," she said at last. 
"It hurts so I can't help it; but 1 can bear the 
hurt. Please go quick. How far is it ? " 

"Only two miles," he said. "We '11 soon be 

" I did not think I had come two miles," said 
Elsie, feebly, and that was the iast word she said. 
The man spoke to her several times, but could get 
no answer. 

" Blest if the kid aint fainted," he thought. 
"Well, it 's jist as well; I '11 git her there quicker," 
and he shot along in great strides. 

Just in the outskirts of Tin Cup was a two-story 
frame house, the only frame house, the only two- 
story house, in the region. It was a miner's board- 
ing-house. It was painted an indescribable shade 
of light red, and known as the "Pink Boarding- 
house." Its size and its color combined made it a 
conspicuous landmark, well known to everybody. 

" Ef I can jist git to the Pink Boardin'-'us, 
thet 's all I '11 ask," thought Elsie's rescuer. " Mis' 
Barrett, she '11 bring her round first-rate. But I 
dunno 's the poor little thing 's got much to come 
round to. Her father 's dead 'n' gone, an' she 
haint got any other folks as ever I heern on. 
Blamed if it wa' n't a mighty foolish thing, a feller 
like McFarland goin' into minin', anyhow." 

It was not half an hour from the time Elsie had 
been lifted on this kind miner's broad shoulders 
before she was laid in Mrs. Barrett's own bed, 
with blankets and bottles of hot water all around 
her, and Mrs. Barrett rubbing her hands, holding 
hartshorn to her nose, and doing all she could 
think of to bring her to consciousness; — crying 
over her, too, for Mrs. Barrett was a motherly soul, 
and her lonely life of three long years at the head 
of the Pink Boarding-house, and all the sufferings 
and troubles she had seen in the mining country, 
had made her compassionate and tender. 

"I reckon she's gone, Phil, "she said, when 
he first staggered in with Elsie on his back. 

"No, she aint," he cried. " Ye kin feel her little 
heart a-beatin'. if ye try ; she 's the pluckiest kid 
ever I saw. It 's McFarland's little gal ; she 'd set 
out to come up here all alone, do ye know, 's soon 
's she heard the news o' the slide. Got any on 'em 
out yit? " 

"No," said Mrs. Barrett. "They have n't come 
to any o' the cabins yet." 

"They 'II all be dead, then, I 'm afeard," said 
the man; adding "More 's the pity!" as he 
looked toward Elsie. Mrs. Barrett nodded si- 
lently. "Which cabin was McFarland in?" she 

"The one nearest the mine," replied Phil. 

"That one '11 have the best chance. It can't be- 
so deep up there 's 't is down in the holler." 

"Poor young un," he added, "she'd got the 
two cabins, her'n and Christy's — (they was jined 
into one ; Mac did it before he came up here, so 
Mis' Christy could look after the gal) — she 'd got 
the two cabins all trimmed up with greens, like a 
meetin'-'us, a-lookin' for her father to come down 
to-day. I never '11 get over that fust time I took 
her down the note to say he wa' n't comin'. The 
tears cum in her eyes at fust, but in a minnit she 
had 'em brushed away, and sez she, ' But you 
will stay and eat your dinner with me, sir. That 
is what my papa would like, and I, too. Then I 
wont be all alone; an' the dinner 's ready,' jist 
like a woman ; an' a mighty good dinner the little 
kid 'd cooked, too, all by herself." 

" She 's comin' to," said Mrs. Barrett, who had 
not for a moment stopped chafing Elsie's hands. 
" She 's comin' to, poor little thing; how '11 I ever 
muster up courage to tell her about her father ? " 

"Oh, she knows," said Phil, as he hurried 
away. " She knows it. That 's what brought her 
up here. She overheered the men tellin' it at 

When Elsie opened her eyes and saw Mrs. Bar- 
rett's kind face bending over her, she thought she 
had died and gone to heaven. 

"Is this heaven?" she said. "Are you an 
angel ? " 

Good Mrs. Barrett, in telling the story afterward, 
used to say: " Well, of all the things that ever hap- 
pened to me, I was never so took aback as I was 
at that. And I never knew rightly what I did say 
to the child in the first of it. But in a minute or 
two she got her eyes really open, and then she 
saw I was n't an angel. And she said, ' Oh, 
thank you very much ! I feel better. Where is 
the kind man that brought me here ? Have they 
got my papa out of the snow yet ? ' An' she was as 
calm 's a grown woman, and a sight calmer than 
most of 'em ; and there she lay all that dreadful 
morning, just as peaceful 's any lamb. She 'd 
answer when I spoke to her, and she 'd eat and 
drink whatever I told her to. But I don't believe 
she spoke six words o' her own accord — not till the 
door opened, and her father walked in. And then 
the scream that child gave! It would ha' raised 
the dead ! I thought I 'd never get it out o' my 
ears. She just raised up in bed, and gave that one 
scream, and then she fell back in another dead 
faint, worse than the one I 'd brought her out of 
in the morning. I thought she never would come 
out on 't. I wont ever forget it 's long 's I live. 
And her father, he stood lookin' at her with the 
tears rolling down. And, says he. ' Mrs. Barrett, 
this little girl 's all I Ye got in the world to live for.'" 





Yes, it was indeed Elsie's father that opened the 
door and walked in — safe and sound, and as well 
as ever. A very strange thing had happened. 
On the evening before, one of the miners, Mr. 
McFarland's best friend and room-mate, had 
asked him to take his place on what is called the 
" night shift" — that is. the gang of men who work 
in mines at night. It is a very common thing, 
when mines are prosperous, to keep the work 
going on in them night and day, — one set of men 
working in the day-time and another at night. 
So Mr. McFarland, to relieve his friend, had 
gone into the mine to work that night, and was in 
the tunnel when the snow-slide took place. His 
friend had staid in the cabin, and was killed in- 
stantly — crushed to death in his bed. under the tim- 
bers of the cabin. All who were in the other cabins 
were killed except one man. whose escape seemed 
like a miracle. The broken timbers fell in such 
a way that they did not press on him, and held 
the snow up like a roof above him ; and there he 
lay in his bed, unable to stir hand or foot, in total 
darkness under the mountain of snow, till the morn- 

ing of the second day, when he was taken out, 
nearly dead from fright, but with not a hurt of 
any kind. 

Elsie did not want to speak when she came out 
of her fainting fit and found her father holding her 
hand. She clasped both her hands tightly around 
his, but she did not speak nor move. As he told 
her how it had happened that he was saved, tears 
trickled down her cheeks : but still she did not 
speak. It seemed to her that she should never 
want to do anything as long as she lived but to 
hold her father's hand in hers and look into his 
face. And he felt almost in the same way; as if 
he never wanted to have his little daughter out of 
his sight again. 

In the course of the afternoon, he said to her: 

" I have n't got any Christmas present for you, 
Elsie, dear." 

"Oh, Papa!" she said, in a faint little voice, — 
for she was very weak still. — " I 've got the best 
Christmas present in the world ! I don't believe 
any other girl in the world ever had a Christmas 
present of a papa ! " 



By Joel Benton. 

The mushroom and the oak 

In the meadow stood together. 

When the former, in his cloak 

Pearly-white, briskly said : 
" I have just got out of bed, 

And I find the world is radiant with good 

I see a thousand pretty things — 

Flowers with color, birds with wings 

That fly so far and so fleetly: — 

But there 's one thing puzzles me most com- 
pletely : 

How a tree of power and size 

Should take so long to rise. 

I at once sprang from the ground. 

And have hardly looked around, 

And have not been here an hour ; — 

But, to win your state and power, 

As your wrinkledness appears, 

Took a dozen score of years. 

Look at me, 

And you '11 agree 

I am whole and clear and sound. 

Is n't that a perfect dower ? 

And I 've not been here an hour!" 

Then the oak 

To his callow comrade spoke : 

All depends on what you set yourself to be — 

Whether mushroom, or a tree. 

Very little needs but little for supply ; 

And to one who can say 

He has had no yesterday — 

Who, springing from a shower. 

Was born in an hour. 

And with weeping and quick sorrow. 

Must vanish ere to-morrow, — 

Things are easy, I admit. 

But if you had had a bit of real, sturdy wit, 

You would know 

Quick to come is quick to go. 

" But hither strolls the epicure: 

He will settle this debate, I 'm sure. 

See, he ends our fact or fable. 

By picking you to sit as a morsel on his table. 

But to you 't is little difference, any way — 

Small intruder of a day — 

Had he missed your meadowy spot, 

Found you here, or found you not. 

Death has uses: — and your take-off is as just, 

For to-morrow vou would crumble into dust." 


20 I 

Vol.. XL— 14. 





The New Year gave a dinner to twelve little 

No one of whom had the same tastes as the 

others : 
The Moons, they are called, from the very large 

And wonderful roundness of all of their eyes. 

'T was a mild winter evening, exactly at five, 
When the twelve little brothers began to arrive. 

March came in a comforter big as a shawl ; 

And August without any stockings at all ; 

And Feb. in an ulster, although he was small ; 

And April in boots, which he left in the hall ; 

December in arctics — he feared he would fall, 

And therefore was constantly giving a haul 

To the straps ; and November, if right I recall, 

Had brought an umbrella in case of a squall ; 

And May had a beautiful blue parasol ; 

And then came July, with the rosy-cheeked Jan., 

Though Jan. was in furs, and July had a fan ; 

And Septy and Octy in round caps and frills ; 

And June in a pinafore old as the hills. 

There was plum pie, and peacock, and turtles, and thyme, 
And more than I ever can tell in my rhvme. 
May remarked, " If you please, I '11 take lamb and green peas, 
While September exclaimed, "Apple dumplings and cheese;" 

i88 4 .J 



en the Twelve X^wrtesMfra^mn n$ beg.** to abkive 

And July was inquiring for lemons to squeeze ; 

And August for ices his palate to freeze ; 

And June a great spoon did impatiently seize 

And drummed on the table for "Fresh strawberre&r / " 

November said, "Turkey — I can't wait a minute!" 

December said, "Pudding, with cinnamon in it!" 

Jan. clamored for oysters — March hinted "Half-shell; " 

Feb. thought chicken salad would do very well ; 

Said Octy, "Dessert without nuts can't excel;" 

And April was anxious his wishes to tell — 

(They were chiefly boiled eggs) — till, the tumult to quell, 

The New Year made use of his silver hand-bell, 

And was forced to confess, not at all at his ease, 

That there never were twelve little brothers like these. 

And he rose and declared he would stand it no more, 

And the twelve little brothers he savagely bore, 

By their twelve little collars, outside of his door; 

And the last thing I heard of was June's pinafore. 

Which caught on the door-knob and dolefully tore. 

So, if these little brothers, in good Eighty-four, 

Get treated to weather they '11 sadly deplore ; 

And it rains every day in the sweet month of May, 

And freezes in August, my readers can say 

That the twelve little brothers, so fractious and queer, 

Have excited the wrath of the lordly New Year. 








By Hjalmar Hjorth Boyesen. 

First Story — Magnie's Dangerous Ride. — (Pari- 11.) 

MaGNIE never knew how long he was uncon- 
scious. The first thing he remembered was a 
delicious sense of warmth and comfort stealing 
through him, and strange, unintelligible sounds 
buzzing in the air about him. Somebody was 
talking kindly to him, and a large, warm hand 
was gliding over his forehead and cheeks. The 
peace and warmth were grateful to him after the 
intense strain of his dangerous ride. He was even 
loth to open his eyes when his reviving memory 
began to make the situation clear to him. 

" It was a reckless shot, Harry," he heard some 
one saying in a foreign tongue, which he soon rec- 
ognized as English, "even if it did turn out well. 
Suppose you had sent your bullet crashing through 

the young fellow instead of the buck. How would 
you have felt then ? " 

"I should have felt very badly, I am sure," an- 
swered a younger voice, which obviously belonged 
to Magnie's rescuer : " but 1 followed my usual way 
of doing things. If I did n't act that way, I should n't 
act at all. And you will admit, Uncle, it is a queer 
sort of thing to see a fellow come riding on a rein- 
deer buck, in the midst of a wild herd, and in a 
trackless wilderness like this, where nobody but 
wolves or geologists would be apt to discover any 
attractions. Now, I saw by the young man's re- 
spectable appearance that he could n't be a geolo- 
gist; and if he was a wolf, I didn't mind much if I 
did shoot him." 

i88 4 .; 



At this point, Magnie opened his eyes and 
stared wonderingly about him. He found himself 
in a small, cramped room, the walls of which were 
draped with canvas, and scarcely high enough 
under the ceiling to allow a man to stand erect. 
Against the walls a number of shining brass in- 
struments were leaning, and in a corner there was 
a hearth, the smoke of which escaped through a 
hole in the roof. Two bunks filled with moss, 
with a sheet and a blanket thrown over each, com- 
pleted the outfit of the primitive dwelling. But 
Magnie was more interested in the people, than in 
the looks of the room. A large, blonde, middle- 
aged man, inclined to stoutness, was holding Mag- 
nie's hand as if counting his pulse-beat, and a very 
good-looking young fellow, of about his own age, 
was standing at the hearth, turning a spit upon 
which was a venison steak. 

"Hallo! Our young friend is returning from 
the land of Nod," said the youth who had been 
addressed as Harry. "I am glad you did n't start 
on a longer journey, young chap, when I fired at 
you; for if you had, you would have interfered 
seriously with my comfort." 

Magnie, who was a fair English scholar, under- 
stood perfectly what was said to him, but several 
minutes elapsed before he could collect himself 
sufficiently to answer. In order to gain time, he 
made an effort to raise himself and take a closer 
look at his surroundings, but was forced by the 
older man to abandon the attempt. " Not so fast, 
my dear, not so fast," he said, stooping over him, 
and gently pushing him back into a reclining po- 
sition. " You must remember that you have a big 
lump on your head from your fall, and it wont do 
to be frisky just yet. But before conversing fur- 
ther, it might lie well to ascertain whether we 
understand each other." 

••Yes, I think — 1 think — I do," stammered 
Magnie. ''I know some English." 

"Ah, then we shall get along charmingly," the 
man remarked, with an encouraging smile. "And 1 
think Harry's venison steak is done by this time ; 
and dinner, as you know, affords the most delight- 
ful opportunity for getting acquainted. Gunnar, 
our guide, who is outside skinning your reindeer 
buck, will soon present himself and serve the 
dinner. Here he is, and he is our cook, butler, 
chambermaid, laundress, beast of burden, and in- 
terpreter, all in one." 

The man to whom the professor alluded was at 
this moment seen crawling on his hands and feet 
through the low door-way, which his bulky figure 
completely filled. He was a Norwegian peasant 
of the ordinary sort, with a square, rudely cut face, 
dull blue eyes, and a tuft of towy hair hanging down 
over his forehead. With one hand he was drag- 

ging the skin of the buck, and between his teeth 
he held an ugly-looking knife. 

" We have got to bury him," he said. 

" Bury him ! "cried Harry ! "Why, you blood- 
thirsty wretch ! Don't you see he is sitting there, 
looking as bright as a sixpence ? " 

"I mean the buck," replied Gunnar, impertur- 

"And why do you wish to bun the buck? 1 
would much rather eat him. This steak here has 
a most tempting flavor, and 1 am quite tired of 
canned abominations by this time." 

" The wolves will be sure to scent the meat, now 
that it is flayed, and before an hour we might have 
a whole congregation of them here." 

" Well, then, we will shoot them down," insisted 
the cheerful Harry. "Come, now. Uncle, and let 
us have a civilized dinner. I don't pretend to be- 
an expert in the noble art of cookery; but if this 
tastes as good as it smells, I would n't exchange it 
for a Delmonico banquet. And if the wolves, as 
Gunnar says, can smell a dead reindeer miles 
away, why they would be likely to smell a venison 
steak from the ends of creation. Perhaps, if we 
don't hurry, all the wolves of the earth may invite 
themselves to our dinner." 

Gunnar, upon whom this fanciful raillery was 
lost, was still standing on all-fours in the door, 
with his front half in the warm room and his rear- 
ward portion in the arctic regions without. He- 
was gazing helplessly from one to another, as if 
asking for an explanation of all this superfluous 
talk. " Yill you cawme and help me, Mester 
Harry ? " he asked at last, stolidly. 

"• Yes, when I have had my dinner. I will, Mester 
Gunnar," answered Harry, gayly. 

'■ Veil, I have nothing more to say, den," grum- 
bled the guide; "but it vould vonder me much if. 
before you are troo, you vont have some unbidden 

"All right, Gunnar —the more the merrier;" 
retorted Harry as. with exaggerated imitation of a 
waiter's manner, he distributed plates, knives, and 
napkins to Magnie and his uncle. 

They now fell to chatting, and Magnie learned, 
after having given a brief account of himself, that 
his entertainers were Professor Winchester, an 
American geologist, and his nephew, Harry Win- 
chester, who was accompanying his uncle, chiefly 
for the fun of the tiling, and also for the purpose 
of seeing the world and picking up some crumbs 
of scientific knowledge. The Professor was espe- 
cially interested in glaciers and their action in ages 
past upon the surface of the earth, and, as the 
Norwegian glaciers had never been thoroughly- 
studied, he had determined to devote a couple of 
months to observations and measurements, with a 




view to settling some mooted geological questions 
upon which he had almost staked his reputation. 

They had just finished the steak, which would 
perhaps have been tenderer if it had not been so 
fresh, and were helping themselves to the contents 
of a jar of raspberry preserves, when Harry sud- 
denly dropped his spoon and turned with a serious 
face to his uncle. 

" Did you hear that?" he said. 

" No ; what was it ? " 

Harry waited for a minute ; then, as a wild, 
doleful howl was heard, he laid his hand on the 
Professor's arm, and remarked : 

' ' The old fellow was right. We shall have 
unbidden guests." 

" But they are hardly dangerous in these regions, 
so far as I can learn," said the Professor, re-assur- 

" That depends upon their number. We could 
tackle a dozen ; but two dozen we might find 
troublesome. At any rate, they have spoiled my 
appetite for raspberry jam, and that is something 
I sha'n't soon forgive them." 

Three or four howls, sounding nearer, and echo- 
ing with terrible distinctness from the glaciers, 
seemed to depress Harry's spirits still further, and 
he put the jar away and began to examine the lock 
of his rifle. 

" They are evidently summoning a mass meet- 
ing," remarked the Professor, as another chorus 
of howls reechoed from the glacier. " I wish 
we had more giins." 

"And I wish mine were a Remington or a 
Springfield breech-loader, with a dozen cartridges 
in it," Harry exclaimed. " These double-barreled 
Norwegian machines, with two shots in them, are 
really good for nothing in an emergency. They 
are antediluvian both in shape and construction." 

He had scarcely finished this lament, when 
Gunnar's huge form re-appeared in the door, quad- 
ruped fashion, and made an attempt to enter. 
But his great bulk nearly filled the narrow room, 
and made it impossible for the others to move. He 
examined silently first Harry's rifle, then his own, 
cut off a slice of steak with his pocket-knife, and 
was about to crawl out again, when the Professor, 
who could not quite conceal his anxiety, asked 
him what he had done with the reindeer. 

"Oh!" he answered, triumphantly, "I haf 
buried him among de stones, vhere it vill be safe 
from all de volves in de vorld." 

" But, my dear fellow," ejaculated the Professor, 
hotly, "why did n't you rather let the wolves have 
it? Then, at least, they would spare us." 

" You surely vould n't give a goot fresh rein- 
deer, legs and all, to a pack of skountrelly volves, 
vould you ? " 

" I would much rather give them that than give 
them myself." 

"But it is vorth tventy dollars, ef you can get 
it down fresh and sell it to de English yachts," 
protested Gunnar, stolidly. 

"Yes, yes; but you great stupid," cried the 
Professor in despair, " what do you think my life 
is worth? and Master Harry's? and this young 
fellow's?" (pointing to Magnie). "Now, go as 
quick as you can and dig the deer out again." 

Gunnar, scarcely able to comprehend such crim- 
inal wastefulness, was backing out cautiously 
with his feet foremost, when suddenly he gave a 
scream and a jump which nearly raised the roof 
from the hut. It was evident that he had been 
bitten. In the same moment a fresh chorus of 
howls resounded without, mingled with sharp, 
whining barks, expressive of hunger and ferocity. 
There was something shudderingly wild and mourn- 
ful in these long-drawn discords, as they rose 
toward the sky in this lonely desert; and brave as 
he was, Magnie could not quite restrain the terror 
which he felt stealing upon him. Weakened by 
his icy bath, moreover, and by the nervous strain 
of his first adventure, he had no great desire to 
encounter a pack of ravenous wolves. Still, he 
manned himseif for the occasion and, in as steady 
a voice as he could command, begged the Pro- 
fessor to hand him some weapon. Harry, who 
had instinctively taken the lead, had just time to 
reach him a long hunting-knife, and arm his uncle 
with an ax, when, through the door which Gunnar 
had left open, two wolves came leaping in and 
paused in bewilderment at the sight of the fire on 
the hearth. They seemed dazed by the light, and 
stood panting and blinking, with their trembling 
red tongues lolling out of their mouths. Harry, 
whose gun was useless at such close range, 
snatched the ax away from the Professor, and at 
one blow split the skull of one of the intruders, 
while Magnie ran his knife up to the very hilt in 
the neck of the other. The beast was, however, 
by no means dead after that, but leaped up on his 
assailant's chest, and would have given him an 
ugly wound in the neck, had not the Professor torn 
it away and flung it down upon the fire, where 
with a howling whine it expired. The Professor had 
also found time to bolt the door, before more 
visitors could enter ; and two successive shots with- 
out seemed to indicate that Gunnar was holding 
his own against the pack. But the question was, 
how long would he succeed in keeping them at 
bay ? He had fired both his shots, and he would 
scarcely have a chance to load again, with twenty 
hungry beasts leaping about him. This they read 
in one another's faces, but no one was anxious to 
anticipate the other in uttering his dread. 

i88 4 .] 



" Help, help ! " cried Gufinar, in dire need. 

'• Take your hand away, Uncle ! " demanded 
Harry. " I am going out to help him." 

"For your life's sake, Harry," implored the 
Professor, "don't go! Let me go! What would 
your Mother say to me, if I should return without 
you ? " 

" I '11 come back again, Uncle, don't you fear," 
said the youth, with feigned cheerfulness ; " but I 
wont let this poor fellow perish before my very 
eyes, even though he is a fool." 

" It was his foolishness which brought this 
danger upon us," remonstrated the Professor. 

" He knew no better," cried Harry, tearing the 
door open, and with ax uplifted rushing out into 
the twilight. What he saw seemed merely a dark 
mass, huddled together and swaying sideways, from 
which now and then a black figure detached itself 
with a howl, jumped wildly about, and again joined 
the dark, struggling mass. He could distinguish 
Gunnar's head, and his arms fighting desperately, 
and, from the yelps and howls of the wolves, he 
concluded that he had thrown away the rifle and 
was using his knife with good effect. 

"Help!" he yelled, "help!" 

"You shall have it, old fellow," cried Harry, 
plunging forward and swinging his ax about 
him; and the Professor, who had followed close 
at his heels, shouting at the top of his voice, 
pressed in Harry's wake right into the center of 
the furious pack. But, at that very instant, there 
came a long " Hallo-o ! " from the lake below, and a 
rifle bullet flew whistling above their heads and 
struck a rock scarcely a yard above the Professor's 
hat. Several wolves lay gasping and yelping on 
the ground, and the rest slunk aside. Another 
shot followed, and a large beast made a leap and 
fell dead among the stones. Gunnar, who was 
lying bleeding upon the ground, was helped to his 
feet, and supported by Harry and the Professor to 
the door of the cottage. 

" Hallo, there ! " shouted Harry, in response to 
the call from below. 

" Hallo ! " some one shouted back. 

The figures of three men were now seen looming 
up in the dusk, and Magnie, who instinctively 
knew who they were, sprang to meet them, and in 
another moment lay sobbing in his brother's arms. 
The poor lad was so completely unnerved by the 
prolonged suspense and excitement, that he had 
to be carried back into the hut, and his brother, 
after having hurriedly introduced himself to the 

Professor, came very near giving way to his feel- 
ings, too. Gunnar's wounds, which were numerous, 
though not serious, were washed and bandaged by 
Grim Hcring-Luck ; and having been wrapped in a 
horse-blanket, to keep out the cold, he was stowed 
away in a bunk and was soon asleep. As the hut 
was too small to admit all the company at once, 
Grim and Bjarne remained outside, and busied 
themselves in skinning the seven wolves which had 
fallen on the field of battle. Harry, who had 
got a bad bite in his arm, which he refused to 
regard as serious, consented with reluctance to his 
uncle's surgery, and insisted upon sitting up and 
conversing with Olaf Birk, to whom he had taken a 
great liking. But after a while the conversation 
began to lag, and tired heads began to droop ; 
and when, about midnight. Grim crept in to see 
how his invalid was doing, he found the Professor 
reclining on some loose moss upon the floor, while 
Harry was snoring peacefully in a bunk, using 
Olaf's back for a pillow. And Olaf, in spite of his 
uncomfortable attitude, seemed also to have found 
his way to the land of Nod. Grim, knowing the 
danger of exposure in this cold glacier air, covered 
them all up with skins and horse-blankets, threw 
a few dry sticks upon the fire, and resumed his 
post as sentinel at the door. 

The next morning, Professor Winchester and his 
nephew accepted Olaf's invitation to spend a few 
days at Hasselrud, and without further advent- 
ures the whole caravan descended into the valley, 
calling on their way at the saeter where Edwin 
had been left. It appeared, when they came to 
discuss the strange incidents of the preceding day, 
that it was Magnie's silk handkerchief which had 
enabled them to track him to the edge of the lake, 
and, by means of a raft, which Bjarne kept hidden 
among the stones in a little bay, they had been 
enabled to cross, leaving their horses in charge of 
a shepherd boy whom they had found tending 
goats close by. 

The reindeer cow which Olaf had killed was 
safely carried down to the valley, and two wolf- 
skins were presented to Magnie by Harry Win- 
chester. The other wolf-skins, as well as the skin 
of the reindeer buck, Bjarne prepared in a special 
manner, and Harry looked forward with much 
pleasure to seeing them as rugs upon the floor of 
his room at college ; and he positively swelled with 
pride when he imagined himself relating to his 
admiring fellow-students the adventures which had 
brought him these precious possessions. 




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By Louisa M. Ai.cott. 

" It is too bad to have our jolly vacation spoilt 
by this provoking storm. Did n't mind it yester- 
day, because we could eat all the time; but here we 
are cooped up for a week, perhaps, and I 'd like to 
know what we are to do." growled Geoff, as he 
stood at the window looking gloomily at the bleak 
scene without. It certainly was discouraging ; for 
the north wind howled, the air was dark with 
falling snow, and drifts were rising over fences, 
roads, and fields, as if to barricade the Christmas 
party in the great country house. 

" We can bear it pleasantly, since it can't be 
helped," said gentle sister Mary, with a kind hand 
on his shoulder, and a face full of sympathy for 
his disappointment. " I 'm sorry for the coasting, 
skating, and sleighing frolics we have lost ; but if 
we must be shut up, 1 'm sure we could n't have a 
pleasanter prison or a kinder jailer. Don't let 
Grandma hear us complain, for she has made great 
exertions to have our visit a merry one, and it will 
trouble her if we are not gay and contented." 

"That's easy for a parcel of girls, who only- 
want to mull over the fire, and chatter, and drink 
tea ; but it 's rough on us fellows, who come for the 
outside fun. House is well enough, but when you Ye 
seen it once there 's an end. Eating is jolly, but 
you can't stuff forever. We might dig or snowball 
if it did n't blow a gale. Never saw such a beast 
of a storm ! " and Geoff flattened his nose against 
the window-pane and scowled at the elements. 

A laugh made him turn around and forget his 
woes, to stare at the quaint little figure that stood 
curtseying in the door-way of the keeping-room, 
where a dozen young people were penned while 
the maids cleared up the remains of yesterday's 
feast in the kitchen, the mothers were busy with 
the babies upstairs, and the fathers read papers 
in the best parlor; for this was a family gathering 
under the roof of the old homestead. 

A rosy, dark-eyed face looked out from the 
faded green calash, a gayly flowered gown was 
looped up over a blue quilted petticoat, and a red 
camlet cloak hung down behind. A big reticule 
and a funny umbrella were held in either hand, 
and red hose and very high-heeled, pointed shoes 
covered a trim pair of feet. 

" God bless you, merry gentlemen, 
May nothing yon dismay; 
Here 's your ancient granny come 
To call, this Christmas day," 

sang Minnie, the lively member of the flock, as she 

bobbed little curtseys and smiled so infectiously 
that even cross Geoff cheered up. 

"Where did you get that rigging?" "Isn't 
it becoming!" "What queer stuff!" "Did 
Grandma ever look so, I wonder?" 

These and many other questions rained upon 
the wearer of the old costume, and she answered 
them as fast as she could. 

" I went rummaging up garret for something 
to read, and found two chests of old duds. 
Thought I 'd dress up and see how you liked me. 
Grandma said I might, and told me I looked like 
her when she was young. She was a beauty, you 
know, so 1 fuel as proud as a peacock." And Min 
danced away to stand before the portrait of a 
blooming girl in a short-waisted, white satin gown 
and a pearl necklace, which hung opposite the 
companion portrait of an officer in an old-fashioned 

" So you do. Wonder if I should look like 
Grandpa if I got into his old toggery? " said Geoff, 
looking up at the handsome man with the queue 
and the high coat-collar. 

"Go and try; the uniform is in the chest, and 
not much moth-eaten. Let 's have a jolly rum- 
mage, and see what we can find. ll'r did n't eat 
ourselves sick, so we will amuse these lazy inva- 
lids," and Min glanced pityingly at several cousins, 
who lay about on sofas or in easy chairs, pre- 
tending to read, but evidently suffering from too 
great devotion to the bountiful dinner and evening 
feast of yesterday. 

Away went Min and Lotty, Geoff and Walt, 
glad of anything to beguile the stormy afternoon. 
Grandma smiled as she heard the tramp of feet 
overhead, the peals of laughter, and the bang of 
chest-lids, well knowing that a scene of dire con- 
fusion awaited her when the noisy frolic was 
done, but thankful for the stores of ancient finery 
which would keep the restless children happy for a 

It was truly a noble garret, for it extended the 
whole length of the great square house, with win- 
dows at either end, and divided in the middle by a 
solid chimney. All around stood rows of chests, 
dilapidated furniture, and wardrobes full of old 
relics, while the walls w-ere hung with many things 
for which modern tongues can find no names. In 
one corner was a book-case full of musty books and 
papers ; in another, kitchen utensils and rusty 
weapons ; the third was devoted to quilts hung on 




lines, and in the fourth stood a loom with a spin- 
ning-wheel beside it, both seemingly well cared 
for, as the dust lay lightly on them, and flax was 
still upon the distaff. 

A glorious rummage followed the irruption of 
the Goths and Vandals into this quiet spot, and 
soon Geoff quite forgot the storm as he pranced 
about in the buff and blue coat, with a cocked hat 
on his head, and Grandfather's sword at his side. 
Lottie arrayed herself in a pumpkin hood and 
quilted cloak for warmth, while Walt, the book- 
worm, went straight to the ancient library, and 
became absorbed in faded souvenirs, yellow news- 
papers, and almanacs of a century ago. 

Having displayed themselves below and romped 
all over the house, the masqueraders grew tired at 
last, and early twilight warned them to leave be- 
fore ghostly shadows began to haunt the garret. 

" I mean to take this down and ask Grandma to 
show me how it 's done. I 've heard her tell about 
spinning and weaving when she was a girl, and 
I know I can learn," said Minnie, who had fallen 
in love with the little wheel, and vainly tried to twist 
the flax into as smooth a thread as the one hang- 
ing from the distaff, as if shadowy fingers had lately 
spun it. 

" Queen Victoria set the fashion in England, and 
we might do it here. Would n't it be fun to have a 
wheel in the parlor at home, and really use it, not 
keep it tied up with blue ribbons, as the other girls 
do ! " cried Lotty, charmed with the new idea. 

"Come, Geoff, take it down for us. You ought 
to do it out of gratitude for my cheering you up so 
nicely," said Min, leading the way. 

"So I will. Here, Walt, give it a hoist, and 
come behind to pick up the pieces, for the old ma- 
chine must be about a hundred, I guess." 

Shouldering the wheel, Geoff carried it down ; 
but no bits fell by the way, for the stout little 
wheel was all in order, kept so by loving hands 
that for more than eighty years had been spinning 
the mingled thread of a long and useful life. 

Glorious fires were roaring up the wide chim- 
neys in parlor and keeping-room, and old and 
young were gathering around them, while the 
storm beat on the window-panes, and the wintry 
wind howled as if angry at being shut out. 

"See what. we 've stolen, Grandma," cried Mm, 
as the procession came in, rosy, dusty, gay and 

"Bless the child! What possessed you to lug 
that old thing down ? " asked Madam Shirley, much 
amused, as the prize was placed before her where 
she sat in her high-backed chair, a right splendid 
old lady in her stately cap, black silk gown and 
muslin apron, with a bunch of keys at her side, 
like a model housekeeper as she was. 

"You don't mind our playing with it, do you? 
And will you teach me to spin ? I think it 's such 
a pretty little thing, and I want to be like you in 
all ways, Grandma dear," answered Min, sitting 
on the arm of the great chair, with her fresh cheek 
close to the wrinkied one where winter roses still 

" You wheedling gypsy ! I '11 teach you with 
all my heart, for it is pretty work, and I often won- 
der ladies don't keep it up. I did till 1 was too 
busy, and now I often take a turn at it when I 'm 
tired of knitting. The hum is very soothing, and 
the thread much stronger than any we get nowa- 

As she spoke, the old lady dusted the wheel, and 
gave it a skillful turn or two, till the soft whir made 
pleasant music in the room. 

" Is it really a hundred years old ? " asked Geoff, 
drawing nearer with the others to watch the new 

" Just about. It was one of my mother's wed- 
ding presents, and she gave it to me when I was 
fifteen. Deary me, how well I remember that day," 
and Grandma seemed to fall a-dreaming as her 
eyes rested on the letters E. R. M. rudely cut in 
the wood, and below these were three others with 
something meant for a true lover's knot between. 

"Whose initials are these?" asked Min, scent- 
ing a romance with girlish quickness, for Grand- 
ma was smiling as if her eyes read the title to 
some little story in those worn letters. 

" Elizabeth Rachel Morgan and Joel Manlius 
Shirley. Your blessed Grandfather cut our names 
there the day I was sixteen, and put the flourish 
between to show what he wanted," added the old 
lady, laughing as she made the wheel hum again. 

" Tell about it, please do," begged Min, remem- 
bering that Grandma had been a beauty and a 

" It 's a long tale, my darling, and I could n't 
tell it now. Sometime when I 'm teaching you to 
spin I 11 do it, maybe." 

But the girl was determined to have her story ; 
and after tea, when the little ones were in bed, the 
elders playing whist in the parlor, and the young 
folks deciding what game to begin, Minnie sat 
down and tried to spin, sure that the familiar 
sound would lure Grandma to give the lesson and 
tell the tale. 

She was right, for the wheel had not gone around 
many times, when the tap of the cane was heard, 
and the old lady came- rustling in, quite ready for 
a chat, now that three cups of her own good tea 
and a nap in the chimney corner had refreshed her. 

"No, dear, that 's not the way; you need a 
dish of water to wet your fingers in. and you 
must draw the flax out slow and steady, else it 


2 I I 

runs to waste, and makes a poor thread. Fetch 
me that chair, and I '11 show you how, since you 
are bent on learning." 

Establishing herself in the straight-backed seat, 
a skillful tap of the foot set the wheel in swift and 
easy motion, and the gray thread twisted fine and 
evenly from the distaff. 

" Is n't it a pretty picture ? " said Min to Lotty, 
as they watched the old lady work. 

" Not so pretty as the one I used to see when 
my dear mother sat here, and I, a little child, 
at her knee. Ah, my dears, she could have told 
you stories all night long, and well worth hearing. 
I was never tired of them." 

"Please tell one now, Grandma. We don't 
know what to play, and it would be so nice to sit 
around the fire and hear it this stormy night," sug- 
gested Min, artfully seizing the hint. 

" Do ! do ! We all love stories, and we '11 be as 
still as mice," added Geoff, beckoning to the others 
as he took the big arm-chair, being the oldest 
grandson and leader of the flock. 

Camping on the rug, or nestling in the sofa 
corner, the boys and girls all turned expectant 
faces toward Grandma, who settled her cap-strings 
and smoothed her spotless apron, with an indul- 
gent smile at her little audience. 

" I don't know which one to tell first." 

"The ghost story; that 's a splendid one, and 
most of the children never heard it," said Walt. 

" Have Indians and fighting in it. I like that 
kind," added Geoff. 

"No; tell a love story. They are so interest- 
ing," said Lotty. 

" I want the story about the initials first. I know 
it is very sentimental. So do begin with that, 
Grandma," begged Min. 

"Well, dears, perhaps I 'd better choose that 
one, for it has the battle of New Orleans, and 
wolves, and spinning, and sweethearts in it ; so 
it will suit you all, I hope." 

"Oh, lovely! Do begin right away," cried 
Minnie, as the clapping of hands showed how 
satisfactory the prospect was. 

Grandma gave a loud " hem ! " and began at 
once, while the little wheel hummed a soft accom- 
paniment to her words. 


" When I was fifteen, my mother gave me 
this wheel, and said : ' Now, daughter Betsey, it 
is time for you to begin your wedding outfit, for 
I mistrust you '11 marry young.' In those days 
girls spun and wove webs of fine linen and laid 
'em up in chests, with lavender and rosemary, for 
sheets and table-linen after they married. So I 

spun away, making all manner of fine plans in my 
silly head, for I was a pretty piece, they all said, 
and young as I was, two or three fine lads used to 
come evenings and sit staring at me while I worked. 

" Among these, was my neighbor Joel Manlius 
Shirley, and I was fond of him, but he had n't 
much money, so I put on airs, and tried his pa- 
tience very much. One day he came in and said : 
'Betsey, I 'm going a-sokliering; they need men, 
and I 'm off. Will you think of poor Joe when 
I 'm gone ? ' 

"I don't know how I looked, but I felt as if 1 
could n't bear it. Only I was too proud to show 
my trouble ; so I laughed and gave my wheel a 
twist, and said I was glad of it, since anything was 
better than hanging round at home. 

"That hurt him, but he was always gentle to 
saucy Betsey, and taking out his knife, he cut those 
letters under mine, saying, with a look I never 
could forget : 

" ' That will remind you of me if you are likely 
to forget. Good-bye ; I 'm going right away, and 
may never come back.' 

" He kissed me and was off before I could say a 
word, and then I cried till my flax was wet and 
my thread tangled, and my heart 'most broken. 
Deary me, how well I remember that heavy day ! " 

Grandma smiled, but something shone in her 
old eyes very like a tear, and sentimental Lotty 
felt deeply interested at this point. 

"Where does the fighting come in?" asked 
Geoff, who was of a military turn, as became the 
descendant of a soldier. 

" 1 did n't know or care much about the War of 
1S12, except as far as the safety of one man was con- 
cerned. Joe got on without any harm till the bat- 
tle of New Orleans, when he was nearly killed 
behind the cotton-bale breastworks General Jack- 
son built." 

" Yes, I know all about it ! Jackson fought 
against twelve thousand and lost only seven men. 
That was the last battle of the war, January S, 1S15. 
Three cheers for Grandpa ! " shouted Geoff, waving 
a tidy, as no hat was at hand. 

The others echoed the hurrah, and Grandma 
beamed with pride as she went on : " We could n't 
get news from the army very often in those troublous 
times, and Joe was gone two years before the war 
ended. After the great battle we had no news for 
a long spell, and we feared he was one of the 
seven men killed. Those were dreadful dars for 
all of us. My honored mother was a pious soul, 
and so was Mrs. Shirley, and they kept up their 
hearts with hope and prayer; but I, poor thing, 
was young and weak, and I cried myself half blind, 
remembering how naughty I had been. I would 
spin no more, but set the wheel away, saying I 

2 I 2 



should have no need of wedding gear, as I should 
never marry ; and I wore black ribbon on my 
caps, and one of Joe's buttons strung about my 
neck, mourning dismally for my lost dear. 

" So the winter ended, and the summer went, 
and no news came of Joe. All said he was dead, 
and we had prayers at 
church, and talked of 
setting a stone up in 
the grave-yard, -and I 
thought my life was 
done ; for I pined sad- 
ly, and felt as if 1 
could never laugh 
again. But I did, for 
the Lord was very- 
good to us, and out 
of danger and cap- 
tivity delivered that 
dear boy." 

Grandma spoke 
solemnly, and folded 
her hands in thanks- 
giving as she looked 
up to the picture of 
the handsome officer 
hanging on the wall 
before her. The eld- 
er children could just 
remember Grandpa 
as a very old and 
feeble man, and it 
struck them as funny 
to speak of him as a 
"dear boy " ; but they 
never smiled, and du- 
tifully lifted their eyes 
to the queue and the 
high-collared coat, 
wondering if Joe was 
as rosy in real life as 
in the portrait. 

" Well, that 's the 
sentimental part ; now 
comes the merry part, 
and that will suit the 
boys," said the old lady, briskly, as she spun away, 
and went on in a lively tone : 

" One December day, as I sat by that very win- 
dow, dreaming sorrowfully at my sewing work, 
while old Sally nodded over her knitting by the 
fire, I saw a man come creeping along by the 
fence and dodge behind the wood-pile. There 
were many bad folks 'round in those times ; for war 
always leaves a sight of lazy rascals afloat, as well as 
poor fellows maimed and homeless. 

" Mother had gone over to the sewing society at 

Mrs. Shirley's, and I was all alone, for Sally was 
so stiff with rheumatics she could scarce stir, and 
that was why I staid to take care of her. The 
old musket always hung over the kitchen chimney- 
piece loaded, and I knew how to fire it, for Joe 
taught me. So away I went and got it down, for I 







: '-1 


saw the man popping up his head now and then 
to spy the land, and I felt sure he meant mischief. 
I knew Sally would only scream like a scared hen, 
so I let her sleep ; and getting behind the shutter 1 
pointed my gun, and waited to blaze away as soon 
as the enemy showed signs of attacking. 

" Presently he came creeping up to the back 
door, and I heard him try the latch. All was fast, 
so I just slipped into the kitchen and stood behind 
the settle, for I was surer than ever he was a rascal 
since 1 'd seen him nearer. He was a tall man. 

iS8 4 . 



dreadful shabby in an old coat and boots, a ragged 
hat over his eyes, and a great beard hiding the 
lower part of his face. He had a little bundle and 
a big stick in his hands, and limped as if foot-sore 
or lame. 

" I was much afeard; but those were times that 
made heroes of men and taught women to be 
brave for love of home and country. So 1 kept 
steady, with my eye on the window, and my finger 
on the trigger of the old gun that had n't been 
fired for years. Presently the man looked in, and 
I saw what a strange roll his great eyes had, for he 
was thin-faced, and looked half-starved. If Mother 
had been there, she 'd have called him in and fed 
him well, but I dared not, and when he tried the 
window I aimed, but did not fire ; for finding the 
button down he went away, and I chopped on the 
settle shaking like a leaf. All was still, and in a 
minute I plucked up courage to go to look out a 
bit ; but just as I reached the middle of the kitchen, 
the buttery door opened, and there stood the rob- 
ber, with a carving knife in one hand and my best 
loaf of spice bread in the other. He said some- 
thing, and made a rush at me ; but 1 pulled the 
trigger, saw a flash, felt a blow, and fell somewhere, 
thinking, ' Now I 'm dead ! '" 

Here Grandma paused for breath, having spoken 
rapidly and acted out the scene dramatically, to 
the intense delight of the children, who sat like 
images of interest, staring at her with round eyes. 

"But you weren't dead? What next?" cried 
Walt, eagerly. 

"Bless you, no ! I only fell into Joe's arms, and 
when I came to, there the dear fellow was, crying- 
over me like a baby, while old Sally danced round 
us like a bedlamite, in spite of her rheumatics, 
shouting : ' Hosanna ! Thanks and praise ! He 's 
come, he '3 come ! ' " 

" Was he shot ? " asked Geoff, anxious for a little 

"No, dear; the old gun burst and hurt my 
hands, but not a mite of harm was done to Joe. 
I don't think I could tell all that happened for a 
spell, being quite dazed with joy and surprise ; but 
by the time Mother came home I was as peart as a 
wren, and Joe was at the table eating and drinking" 
every mortal thing I could find in the house. 

" He 'd been kept a prisoner till exchanged, and 
had had a hard time getting" home, with little money 
and a bad wound in the leg, besides being feeble 
with jail fever. But we did n't fret over past 
troubles, being so glad to get him back. How my 
blessed mother did laugh, when we told her the 
reception I gave the poor lad. Hut 1 said it served 
him right, since he came sneaking home like a 
thief, instead of marching in like a hero. Then he 
owned that he came there to get something to eat. 

being ashamed to go in upon his mother with all 
her company about her. So we fed and comforted 
him ; and when we 'd got our wits about us, I 
whipped away to Mrs. Shirley's and told my news, 
and every one of those twenty-five women went 
straight over to our house and burst in upon poor 
Joe as he lay resting on the settle. That was my 
revenge for the scare he gave me, and a fine one 
it was ; for the women chattered over him like a 
flock of magpies, and 1 sat in the corner and 
laughed at him. Ah, I was a sad puss in those 
days ! " 

The old lady's black eyes twinkled with fun, and 
the children laughed with her, till Walt caused a 
lull by asking: 

"Where do the wolves come in. Grandma?" 

"Right along, dear; I'm not likely to forget 
'em, for they most cost me my life, to say nothing 
of my new slippers. There was great rejoicing 
over Joe, and every one wanted to do something to 
honor our hero; for he had done well, we found 
out, when the General heard his story. We had 
a great dinner, and Judge Mullikin gave a supper; 
but Major Belknap was bound to outshine the rest, 
so he invited all the young folks over to his house, 
nigh ten miles away, to a ball, and we all went. I 
made myself fine, you may believe, and wore a 
pair of blue kid slippers, with Mother's best buckles 
to set 'em off. Joe had a new uniform, and was an 
elegant figure of a man, 1 do assure you. He 
could n't dance, poor dear, being still very lame; 
bui I was a proud girl when I marched into that 
ball-room on the arm of my limping" beau. The 
men cheered, and the ladies stood up in chairs to 
see him, and he was as red as my ribbons, and I 
could hardly keep from crying, as I held him up; 
the floor being slippery as glass with the extra 
waxing it had got. 

" 1 declared I would n't dance, because Joe 
could n't; but he made me, saying he could see 
me better, so I footed it till two o'clock, soon for- 
getting all my sorrow and my good resolutions as 
well. I wanted to show Joe that I was as much a 
favorite as ever, though I 'd lived like a widow for 
a year. Young folks will be giddy, and I hope 
these girls will take warning by me and behave 
better when their time comes. There may n't be 
any wolves to sober 'era, but trouble of some sort 
always follows foolish actions; so be careful, my 
dears, and behave with propriety when you "come 
out,' as you call it nowadays." 

Grandma held up a warning forefinger at the 
girls, and shook her head impressively, feeling that 
the moral of her tale must be made clear before 
she went on. But the lassies blushed a little, and 
the lads looked all impatience, so the dear old lady 
introduced the wolves as quickly as she could. 




"About half-past two, Joe and I drove off home 
with four fine hams in the bottom of the sleigh, 
sent by the Major to our mothers. It was a bitter- 
cold February night, with just light enough to see 
the road, and splendid sleighing, so we went along 
at a good pace till we came to the great woods. 
They are all gone now, and the woolen mills stand 
there, but then they were a thick forest of pines, 
and for more than three miles the road led through 
them. In former days Indians had lurked there; 
bears and foxes were still shot, and occasionally 
wolves were seen when cold weather drove them 
to seek food near the sheep-folds and barn-yards. 

"Well, we were skimming along pleasantly 
enough, I rather sleepy, and Joe very careful of 
me, when, just as I was beginning to doze a bit 
with my head on his arm, I felt him start. Old 
Buck, the horse, gave a jump that woke me up, 
and in a minute I knew what the trouble was, for 
from behind us came the howl of a wolf. 

"'Just the night to bring 'em out,' muttered 
Joe, using the whip till Buck went at his quickest 
trot, with his ears down and every sign of hurry 
and worry about him. 

"'Are you afraid of them?' I asked, for I'd 
never had a scare of this sort, though I 'd heard 
other people tell of the fierceness of the brutes 
when hunger made them bold. 

" ' Not a bit, only I wish I had my gun along,' 
said Joe, looking over his shoulder anxiously. 

" ' Pity I had n't brought mine — I do so well with 
it,' I said, and I laughed as I remembered how I 
aimed at Joe and hurt myself. 

" 'Are they chasing us? ' I asked, standing up to 
look back along the white road, for we were just 
on the edge of the woods now. 

" ' Should n't wonder. If I had a better horse 
it would be a lively race, but Buck can't keep this 
pace long, and if he founders we are in a fix, for I 
can't run, and you can't fight. Betsey, there 's 
more than one — hold tight and try to count 'em.' 

" Something in Joe's voice told me plainer than 
words that we were in danger, and I wished we 'd 
waited till the rest of our party came ; but I was 
tired, and so we started alone. 

" Straining my eyes, I could see three black 
spots on the snow, and hear three howls as the 
wolves came galloping after us. I was a brave 
girl, but I 'd never tried this kind of thing before, 
and in a minute all the wolf stories I 'd ever heard 
came flying through my mind. I was mortally 
afeared, but I would n't show it, and turned to Joe, 
trying to laugh as I said: 'Only three as yet. 
Tell me just what to do, and I '11 do it.' 

" ' Brave lass ! I must see to Buck or he '11 be 
down, for he 's badly scared. You wait till the 
rascals are pretty close, then heave over one of 

these confounded hams to amuse 'em, while we 
make the most of their halt. They smell this 
meat, and that 's what they are after,' said Joe, 
driving his best, for the poor old horse began to 
pant, and. limp on his stiff legs. 

" ' Lucky for us we 've got 'em,' says I, bound to 
be cool and gay, 'if we had n't, they 'd get fresh 
meat instead of smoked.' 

"Joe laughed, but a long howl close by made 
me dive for a ham, for in the darkness of the woods 
the beasts had got closer, and now all I could see 
were several balls of fire not many yards away. 
Out went the ham, and a snarling sound showed 
that the wolves were busy eating it. 

" 'All right ! ' said Joe. ' Rest a bit, and have 
another ready. They '11 soon finish that and want 
more. We must go easy, for Buck is nearly blown.' 

"I prepared my ammunition, and, in what seemed 
five minutes, I heard the patter of feet behind us, 
and the fiery eyes were close by. Over went the 
second mouthful, and then the third, and the fourth ; 
but they seemed more ravenous than ever, and each 
time were back sooner in greater numbers. 

"We were nearly out of the woods when the 
last was gone, and if Buck had only had strength 
we should have been safe. But it was plain to see 
that he could n't keep up much longer, for he was 
very old, though he 'd been a finehorse in his prime. 

" ' This looks bad, little Betsey. Cover up in the 
robes, and hold fast to me. The beasts will begin 
to snatch presently, and I 'II have to fight 'em off. 
Thank the powers, I 've my arms left.' 

" As he spoke, Joe pulled me close, and wrapped 
me up, then took the whip, ready to rap the first 
wolf that dared come near enough to be hit. We 
did n't wait long ; up they raced, and began to leap 
and snarl in a way that made my heart stand still at 
first. Then my temper rose, and catching up the 
hot brick I had for my feet, I fired it with such 
good aim, that one sharp, black nose disappeared 
with a yelp of pain. 

" ' Hit 'em again, Betsey ! Take the demijohn 
and bang 'em well. We are nearing Beaman's, 
and the brutes will soon drop off.' 

" It was a lively scrimmage for a few minutes, as 
we both warmed to our work, Joe thrashing away 
with his whip on one side, and I on the other flour- 
ishing the demijohn in which we had carried some 
cider for the supper. 

"But it was soon over, for in the fury of the 
fight Joe forgot the horse ; poor Buck made a 
sudden bolt, upset the sleigh down a bank, and, 
breaking loose, tore back along the road with the 
wolves after him. 

" 'Run, Betsey! run for your life, and send 
Beaman's folks back! I 'm done for — my leg's 
broken. Never mind, I '11 crawl under the sleigh, 

i88 4 .) 



and be all right till you come. The wolves will 
take a good while to pick poor Buck's bones.' 

"Just waiting to see Joe safe, 1 ran as I never 
ran before, and I was always light of foot. How 
I did it 1 don't know, for I 'd forgot to put on my 
moccasins (we did n't have snow-boots, you know, 
in my young days), and there I was tearing along 
that snowy road in my blue kid slippers like a crazy 
thing. It was nigh a mile, and my heart was 'most 
broke before I got there ; but I kept my eye on 
the light in Hetty's winder and tugged along, 
blessing her for the guide and comfort that candle 
was. The last bit was down hill, or I could n't 
have done it ; for when I fell on the door-step my 
voice was clean gone, and I could only lie and 
rap, rap, rap ! till they came flying. I just got 
breath enough to gasp out and point : 

"'Joe — wolves — the big woods — go!' when 
my senses failed me, and I was carried in." 

Here Madam Shirley leaned back in her chair 
quite used up, for she had been acting the scene 
to a breathless audience, and laying about her 
with her handkerchief so vigorously, that her eyes 
snapped, her cheeks were red, and her dear old 
cap all awry. 

" But Joe — did they eat him ? " cried the boys 
in great excitement, while the girls held to one 
another, and the poor little wheel lay flat, upset by 
the blows of the imaginary demijohn dealt to an 
equally imaginary wolf. 

"Hardly, — since he lived to be your grand- 
father," laughed the old lady, in high feather at the 
success of her story. 

" No, no, — we mean the horse ; " shouted Geoff, 
while the others roared at the mistake. 

' ' Yes, they did. Poor old Buck saved us at the 
cost of his own life. His troubles were over, but 
mine were not ; for when I came to I saw Mr. Bea- 
man, and my first thought and word was ' Joe? ' 

" ' Too late — they 'd got him, so we turned back 
to tell you,' said that stupid man. 

" I gave one cry and was going off again, when 
his wife shook me, and says, laughing : 

" ' You little goose ! He means the folks from the 
Major's. A lot came along and found Joe, and 
took him home, and soon 's ever you 're fit we '11 
send you along, too.' 

" ' I 'm ready now,' says I, jumping up in a 
hurry. But I had to sit down again, for my feet 
were all cut and bleeding, and my slippers just 
rags. They fixed me up and off I went, to find 
Mother in a sad taking. But Joe was all right ; he 
had n't broken his leg, but only sprained it badly, 
and being the wounded one he was laid up longer 
than I. We both got well, however, and the 

first time Joe went out he hobbled over to our 
house. I was spinning again then, and thought I 

might need my wedding outfit after all . On 

the whole, I guess we '11 end the story here ; young 
folks would n't care for that part." 

As Grandma paused, the girls cried out with one 
voice: "Yes, we do! we like it best. You said 
you would. Tell about the wedding and all." 

"Well, well, it is n't much. Joe came and sat 
by me, and, as we talked over our adventure, he 
cut that true lover's knot between the letters. I 
did n't seem to mind, and spun away till he pointed 
to it, saying with the look that always made me 
meek as a lamb: " 'May it stand so, my little 
Betsey ? ' 

" I said ' Yes, Joe,' and then — well, never mind 
that bit ; — we were married in June, and I spun 
and wove my wedding things afterward. Dreadful 
slack, my mother thought, but 1 did n't care. My 
wedding gown was white lutestring, full trimmed 
with old lace. Hair over a cushion with white 
roses, and the pearl necklace, just as you see up 
there. Joe wore his uniform, and I tied up his 
hair with a white satin ribbon. He looked beauti- 
ful, and so did I." 

At this artless bit of vanity, the girls smiled, but 
all agreed that Grandma was right, as they looked 
at the portraits with fresh interest. 

" I call that a pretty good story," said Walt, 
with the air of an accomplished critic. 

" 'Specially the wolf part. I wanted that longer," 
added Geoff. 

"It was quite long enough for me, my dear, 
and I did n't hear the last of it for years. Why, 
one of my wedding presents was four hams done up 
elegantly in white paper, with posies on 'em, from 
the Major. He loved a joke, and never forgot how 
well we fought with the pigs' legs that night. Joe 
gave me a new sleigh, the next Christmas, with two 
wolf-skin robes for it. Shot the beasts himself, 
and I kept those rugs till the moths ate the last 
bit. He kept the leavings of my slippers, and I 
have them still. Fetch 'em, Minnie — you know 
where they are." 

Grandma pointed to the tall secretary that stood 
in a corner, and Minnie quickly took a box from 
one of the many drawers. All the heads clustered 
around Grandma, and the faded, ragged shoes 
went from hand to hand, while questions rained 
upon the story-teller till she bade them go to bed. 

Nothing but the promise of more tales would 
appease them; then, with thanks and kisses, the 
young folks trooped away, leaving the old lady to 
put the little wheel to rights and sit thinking over 
her girlhood, in the fire-light. 




During last winter's holiday season, the 
young people of our quiet village were sur- 
prised and pleased at receiving pretty cards, 
each bearing a picture of a huge bubble, with 
two pipes crossed beneath it, and an invitation 
to attend a soap-bubble party at Wistaria ^jl 

All were curious to attend the party; for, Spi - 
although they had seen this novel enter- 36 
tainment mentioned in the newspapers, no \ 
one had the least idea of what it consisted. 

In fact, the young ladies who were to give 
the party were almost as ignorant as their 
guests as to the manner of conducting it; 
but they called together a few of their <^^ 
brightest friends and quietly made such 
preparations as seemed most needful. They 
ordered from the grocer a box of common clay 
pipes with long slender 
stems, and eight 
different - co 
ored nar 
row rib- 


of each 

They a 


two doz 


large bowl, which they filled with strong soap-suds, the march 

fuls of gelatine. Then the)- held a meeting 
and selected by vote eight prizes, consisting of 
one box of assorted candied fruits, one box of 
-^ chocolate-cream drops, a Tarn o' Shanter 
cap, one pair of silver bangles, a box 
of cologne, a silk mouchoir-case, a story- 
book, and the- amount needed for a 
year's subscription to the St. NlCH- 
;» \ OLAS. Each prize was done up in 
J several wrappers to make the parcels 
nearly alike in size, and each was tied 
with a ribbon of a special color, viz. : 
I red, green, white, brown, yellow, violet, 

pink or blue. 
As about forty guests were expected, forty 
pipes were decorated, each with a rib- 
bon bow and streamers of one of the 
above-named colors — five pipes with 
one color, five with another, and so on 
"^L till the eight colors were appar- 
el; j|| tioned. Besides these decorations, 
.Jf there were forty rosettes, five of a 
color, so that each guest could have 
a rosette and pipe to match. A grand 
single prize was next prepared. This 
consisted of a pair of bellows very 
finely painted in bright colors, 
with two slender pipes crossed on 
the upper side. Chinese lanterns 
and flowers were procured 
for the halls and parlors, and 
an experienced pianist was 
engaged to supply the music. 
At last the long-expected 
evening arrived, and as the 
guests drew near, the win- 
dows', of Wistaria Cottage 
glowed through the wintry 
darkness with the light that 
shone from its broad fire- 
places, piled high with blaz- 
ing brands. 

When ready, the guests 

were formed in pairs for 

and as the leading couple reached the 

to every quart of which were added two teaspoon- entrance to the drawing-room, they were stopped 


21 7 

by a little boy and girl holding a basket, from wreaths of bright flowers, and gay fans and white 
which each was requested to draw a rosette and to pipes in graceful groups. From the ceiling, lanterns 


fasten it upon the left shoulder with a pin, from a of many colors were suspended, but some were 
cushion held by the girl. As pair after pair were made of plain white oiled paper to represent huge 


thus decorated, the procession moved on, into bubbles. Large vases of flowers and graceful ferns 
the room, the walls of which were adorned with filled each corner, and in the center of the room a 

Vol. XI.— 15. 




round table was placed, bearing, on a pedestal of 
moss and flowers, the bowl of soap-suds, around 
which were the prizes in packages and the forty dec- 
orated pipes. After marching twice around this 
table, the company were grouped about it and the 
colors were called out by the little girl who had 
distributed the rosettes. As one color was called, 
all who wore it advanced and selected pipes to 
match, and when each had taken one, all formed 
themselves into groups of a color, each group choos- 
ing two umpires from one of the seven other shades. 

The girl then again called out a color, and the 
five blowers who wore it took their places around 
the bowl. She next named a color for umpires, 
and they also took their places at the right and 
left of the circle, where each could see plainly. 
It was the aim of each blower to make the largest 
bubble. Each was allowed five min- 
utes at first for practice, but had the 
privilege of devoting all of this time to 
one bubble. But when one of their um- 
pires called " Time ! " all were obliged 
to go on with the one then begun. Some 
by blowing too hard exploded their 
bubbles, but could ne)t begin another 
after the word "Time" had been 
spoken. Others were so 
careful, that their bub- 
bles were small. The um- 
pires, of course, award- 
ed the prize to the one 
making the largest bub- 
ble that was the last to 
explode ; but, if two or 
more bubbles were alike 
in size and duration, the 
blowers of them were at 
once allowed to contest 
again until one gained 
the prize. 

And so the fun and 
merriment went on that 
memorable nightat Wis- 
taria Cottage, and it was 
a late hour before the 
last of the happy guests 

in judgment upon them ; and thus the contest goes 
on until one player of each color has won a prize. 
The children then bring in a quantity of smaller 
bowls or cups, which they fill from the large bowl 
and pass to any of 
the players who are 
ready for them. 
The grand 
march, shown 
in the picture 
on page 
220, is 
then form- 
ed, and 
the win- 
ners of the 

In order to give our 

boy and girl readers an 
intelligent idea of all that may be done on such an 
occasion, we will follow out in detail the plan which 
we have seen adopted with the greatest success. 
We will suppose the party assembled as described 
above, and one merry group of blowers to have been 
disposed of by their umpires. The latter and those 
of their color then take their places, while another 
group, marked with a ribbon of different color, sit 


prizes are escorted by the others once around the 
room, and then take their places in a semicircle in 
front of the table, where the prizes are distributed to 
them by some gentleman, designated by the hostess 
to act as orator, who should make a pompous speech 
of a humorous nature to each one of the fortunate 
winners. During this march and lively presen- 
tation ceremony, the air is filled with bubbles 


2 19 

blown by the other players in honor of the winners prizes then each take a fan from the wall and 

and of the orator, who, perhaps, is surrounded by station themselves outside of the rows of players, 

a cloud of them in acknowledgment of some very four on each side ; they choose umpires for each 

brilliant remark. Then the grand trial for the of the lines, who stand midway between them, 


chief prize is announced ; and the fortunate win- 
ners of the minor prizes, — one from each group, — 
each having deposited in a place of safety the pack- 
age which was tied with ribbon of his color, surround 
the bowl and prepare for the contest. The orator 
acts as chief umpire, summoning to his aid two of 
the other players, and when he calls "Time ! " great 
is the interest felt in the trial. Among so many 
of the best blowers, the rivalry is very close : but 
after a merry struggle, the champion is at last 
decided upon, and is made the happy recipient of 
the grand prize (whatever may have been selected 
for the purpose), which is delivered to him by 
the orator, with a flowery speech : a general 
salute of bubbles from the other players follows, 
after which the march is continued around the 
room, and the players, bowl in hand, form in 
two lines, ten feet apart. The winners of the 

at the end of each row. Two players from each 
side provide themselves also with fans, and stand 
between the lines at the center. The umpire calls 
" Time ! " and the blowers in each line make bub- 
bles as fast as they can, which the fan-players in 
the center try to fan (without exploding them) over 
the heads of the opposite line. The players outside 
try to fan them back, and the umpires declare that 
side to be the winner which has been able to drive 
the most bubbles over the heads of the opposite 
line, in spite of the efforts of the outside players 
to fan them back. A little practice in using the 
fan will often enable the players to drive the bub- 
bles very quickly without exploding them. 

The prize for this contest is, appropriately, a fan 
for each player on the winning side, the fans being 
selected from the decorations on the walls. After- 
ward, the pleasures of the evening may be length- 





ened by a social dance, during 

the changes of which the flight 

of bubbles may be kept up. 

Any dancer can devote a hand 

to that purpose — as, while 

dancing, the pipe may be worn 

around the neck, attached by 

the long streamers, and it may 

be dipped in the large bowl or in 

one of the cups, which should be left 

about the room in convenient places 

Between the dances, some quiet con- 
tests may be tried by a few players, to 
see which can make a bubble that will 
outlast the others, using their own judg- 
ment as to size. Each player may, if he 
chooses, follow his own bubble around the 
room, endeavoring all the time to protect it 
from injury ; as in this game no fans are Jj| 
allowed, the players can only attack one 'S 
another's bubbles, or move their own, by * 
blowing upon them through the empty pipes. 
But this style of attack and defense is a very 
interesting and effective one. 

Another party may find much amusement 

A simpler contest, depending wholly on 
strength of lungs, may be tried, by seeing 
which can make the largest collection 
of bubbles 

simply touches 

ere and breaks by the 


on the 
J top of 
' the large 
bowl, by 
blowing with 
his pipe be- 
neath the sur- 
face of the 
soap-suds. During all 
the contests, a little boy and girl should 
flit about the room with sprayers, from 
which they blow a fine mist of cologne 

i88 4 .| 


2 2 1 

and lavender water, thus making an agreeabl< 
contrast to the odor of the soap and giving re 
freshment to the merry players. 

A very pretty dance for the soap- 
bubble party may be found in the 
pyramid figure, where one couple 
waltzes to the center, two couples 
follow and stand three feet be- /> 
hind them, three couples 
the next line, and all 

prepare by wearing any odd costume or fancy 
dress which the wearers may possess. And, in- 
deed, fancy-dress costumes are in themselves 
most appropriate for a soap-bubble party, 
as they form a bright pageant well- 
suited to the glowing lanterns, the 
gay fans and parasols, and the 
iridescent hues of the bubbles. 
The final music should begin 
with a slow march and quicken 


blowing bubbles while the rest of the company 
march in single file in and out between the 

Later in the evening, bon-bon costume crack- 
ers may be used to advantage, and their fanci- 
ful paper caps may be useful also to protect the 
hair of the ladies from the showers of bubbles 
which are constantly falling in the soap-bubble 

For these showers, by the way, it may be well to 

into a rapid measure, all the guests blowing bub- 
bles as fast as possible, so that the air shall be 
bright with them. In that way almost the finest 
scene of the entertainment is produced. The shin- 
ing bubbles mount up to the lighted ceiling and are 
driven up and down in clouds by the flying fans, 
and around about into the faces and over the heads 
of the whirling dancers, until the bubbles burst, 
and the soap-suds are exhausted as well as the mer- 
ry and delighted guests of the soap-bubble party. 





By Bessie Chandler: 

" We must n't go near the pond, sissy, 

'Cos there's something — I don't know what - 
But I heard Mamma talking about it : 

It is n't exactly a bear, — 
But a stagnant, I think Mamma called it ; 

And she says she 's afraid ever)' day 
To live by the Park any longer, 

And she wishes they 'd take it away. 

" I never have seen a real stagnant, 

But I guess it has teeth and would bite ; 
But don't be afraid, little sissy, 

Because, if it comes, I will fight. 
I 'd be glad to see just what it looks like, 

But I don't want to get very near, 
'Cos it might make a spring of a sudden ! 

— I guess we had better stop here, 
And sit down on one of the benches. 

Now, don't make a noise; — just keep mum! 
And don't take your eyes off the water, 

And we '11 watch for the stagnant to come." 

■ there. 


By John R. Tait. 

T the Centennial 
not far from 
the Turkish 
cafe, where 
waiters serv- 
ed custom- 
ers with very 
tolerable cof- 
fee and very 
long pipes, 
there was a 
stand owned 
and kept by 
a Turk from 
ple, whose stock-in-trade consisted principally of 
rosaries cut in olive wood, and little heaps of 
what looked like dried herbs. These latter were 
objects of much speculation to American visitors ; 

but I recognized them at once, having often seen 
them before, not in the Holy Land, whence they 
come, but in the streets and squares of Munich and 
other German cities, where they are always to be 
bought at the kirmesse, or fair, which is held a 
short time before Christmas. As in Philadelphia, 
the merchant who had them for sale was always an 
Oriental. In Munich, he was a Jew from Smyrna, 
with a venerable white beard, and I well remember 
his piping cry: "Jericho Rosen .' " and the curi- 
osity with which I first looked upon the seemingly 
withered and worthless twigs he called by that 
name, and which had not the slightest resemblance 
to roses'or. in fact, to any flower whatever. 

Nevertheless, the Jew used to find many custom- 
ers, of whom I was one ; but it was not until a 
German friend had explained what the queer thing 
was, that I knew what to do with it, or whether it 
was not, perhaps, intended to be eaten. The gray, 
shriveled, apparently dead plant, the size of a 
child's band, possesses a singular and interesting 



characteristic, which has given rise to the belief 
(some would call it superstition), very general 
among the people of Southern Europe, that, when 
placed in a vessel of water on the night before 
Easter or on the holy eve of Christmas, the withered 
stems will — if good fortune awaits the household 
during the year — revive, expand their tendrils, and 
change to a fresher hue before morning. 

After hearing this account of the plant, I carried 
one home on a certain evening, when on my table 
a little Christmas-tree stood, winking its waxen 
tapers through a net-work of silver tissue, its green 
boughs weighed down with incongruous fruit, — 
rosy-cheeked apples, oranges, gilded walnuts, and 
glass balls. Underneath it, in a glass of water, I 
put the " rose," and went to bed. 

My first thought the next morning was to see 
what had happened. The story told of it was sub- 
stantiated, and the rose had really bloomed, if by 
"blooming" one understands only an entire change 
of form and increase of size. The same thing 
happened again at Easter ; but I am bound to state 
also, that it has happened frequently on other 
evenings as well, which takes away a little of the 
poetry of the story, and has made me doubt 
whether, after all, its blooming is a sign of any 
especial good fortune. Yet I hope it may be ; for 
when I brought it home, the specimen I still possess 
looked like the picture here 
shown, while, placed in a 
glass of water, it grew, 
within twenty-four hours, 
to the form indicated by 
the illustration near the top 
of this page. 

Naturalists call the plant 
by a very hard name : 
A nastatica h ierocliuntina . 
The leaves fall off from 
the plant after the flower- 
ing, and the branches and 
branchlets become dry, hard, and woody, rising 
upward and bending inward at their points ; hence, 
they become contracted into a globular form, in 
which state the plant is carried off the sand by the 

wind, and blown from the desert places where it 
had its birth into the sea. Here, floating on the 
water, the branches gradually expand and the pods 
open and let out the seeds, which are in turn thrown 

back again upon the shore by the tides,- to germi- 
nate and grow. 

The home of the queer " rose " is amid the arid 
wastes of Egypt, near Cairo, and those of Palestine 
and Barbary. It flourishes on the roofs of houses 
and on rubbish in Syria, and on the sandy coasts 
of the Red Sea. 

The plant long retains the power of expansion 
when immersed in water, — the circumstance in 
which originated the many wonderful stories told of 
its miraculous influence. It is called Kaf Maryam, 
or "Mary's flower," in Palestine, where it is believed 
that it bloomed at the time the Savior was born. 
According to another legend, it sprung up in the 
places where the Virgin Mary rested on her flight 
into Egypt. It was probably first brought by the 
crusaders to Europe, where it is still named the 
" Holy Rose " by those who believe the fable of its 
blossoming only on the great festivals. 

Whether one believes the fable or not, the plant 
is of itself a wonderful one, and all of its names 
are pretty. When it can be procured, it makes 
a fitting accessory to a Christmas-tree, for the 
reason that it grew in the far country where our 
Lord was born, and its strange reviving is a type 
of his immortality and resurrection, from which, 
indeed, it derives its generic name — 'Andstasis 
being the Greek word for Resurrection. 






Oh, blue are the hills of Faeryland, 

And green the summer meadows be, 
And reedy many a river's strand, 

And stately every forest tree. 
And all the bridle bells do ring, 

As knights come riding, two and two, 
Aneath the wood ; and, like a king, 

Sir Urgan rides in armor blue. 
And lo ! as down the wood they rode, — 

The lake beyond just gleams in sight, — 
A wrinkled crone beneath a load 

Bewails her bones in sorry plight. 
Good mother, be of better cheer ; 

Give me your load," quoth Urgan; "so- 
Your fagots on my crupper here 

Will ease you in the path you go." 

Then straightway all the knights, with jeer, 

And laugh, and jest, upon him turn'd ; 
Yet all the kinglier was his cheer, 

Though just a whit his forehead burn'd. 
And off they rode, the flouting train; 

Behind the hill the laughter died ; 
With kindly face and slackened rein, 

He rode the aged dame beside. 


" Now whither rid'st thou, fair Sir Knight, 

By wild and waste and woody lane ? " 
" I ride," quoth he, ''in joust to fight, 

Before the King in fair Mentaine." 
" Now good betide thee, fair Sir Knight; 

When thou a league hast parted hence, 
The path that swerveth to the right 

Will lead to Mentaine's battlements. 

" And midway down the thicket's maze, 
A horse and armor thou wilt find ; 
Mount ; leave thine own ; and ride thy ways ; 
Yon flouting train thou 'It leave behind. 




Who rides him, conquers ; thou shalt win 
Fame at this joust, good knight and fair. 

And lo ! the beldame old and thin 
Did vanish into empty air ! 


Right well amaz'd, Sir Urgan rode 

By many a bosky thicket's edge ; 
A summer brook beside him flowed 

With hidden laughter in the sedge. 
Till, gleaming through the dancing leaves, 

A brazen charger reared on high ; 
With rusted lance, and helm, and greaves, 

The faery armor hung thereby. 

Flashed wide the charger's brazen eyes ; 

All fleshly warm the metal grew ; 
His mane began to stir and rise ; 

A single struggling breath he drew ; 
Through swelling veins his blood did run ; . 

Sir Urgan felt his pulses beat, 
He reared — he plunged from off the stone 

And lighted down upon his feet! 
Hold fast, Sir Urgan ! with such haste 

Thy courser never sped before ! 
By hill and dale and windy waste, 

With headlong speed, the charger bore. 

All mute upon the statue stared 

Sir Urgan: ''By my faith !" he cried, 
An thou hadst life, I had not cared 

To find a nobler steed to ride. 
Who rides thee, conquers!'" Then in haste 

He cast his mail upon the gorse ; 
Soon, in the rusty armor laced, 

He vaulted on the brazen horse. 

As past the flouting knights he burst. 
" Who rides," they wondered, "in such haste? — 
A churlish knight, adorned with rust. 
And in his grandsire's armor laced ! " 

But later, in the tourney's fight. 

These scoffers somewhat changed their cheer: 




" A braver than this stranger knight, 
In joust hath never battled here." 

For helms were cloven, spears were broke, 
And knights and steeds of gallant course 

Went down, before the charge and stroke 
Of Urgan and his faery horse. 

Him to the King the herald brought; 

Throned high he sat above the lists. — 
Right well, Sir Stranger, have ye fought, 

Though of your name we nothing wist.' 
His rusty helm the victor doff 'd ; 

A murmur broke amid the crowd, 

And acclamations swelled aloft 

As good Sir Urgan, kneeling, bowed. 


They crowned him victor. 

Ye who read 

With kindly eyes my story through, 
Say, lives there not some victor's meed 

For all good deeds that you shall do ? 
And when did Urgan kinglier show ? 

When glowed his breast with holier flame? 
Was 't when he rushed upon the foe, 

Or bent .to help the aged dame ? 

By Rose Hawthorne Lathrop. 

No MATTER how dark the day, there can be 
fun-beams ; and where there are children, the 
mothers know how often they shine. There was 
such a snow-storm outdoors that Roger said the 
nursery must have sailed away from the rest of the 
house, up into a cloud ; and almost everybody 
went to the window to see if what he said was 
strictly founded on fact. 

" The Angel " stood in the middle of the big, un- 
encumbered nursery-floor (covered with a carpet of 
roses on green grass), and seemed to be thinking 
about the large snow-flakes which he saw falling, 
falling, down across the upper panes of the wide, 
wide window, while the others looked out of the 

lower panes, with their faces close to the glass. 
" The Angel's" other name was Dan. 

The fire on the hearth crackled like a cricket 
and whirred like a bird, and intimated that it could 
melt the snow-flakes quicker than anybody else, if 
it got hold of them. The children shivered and 
ran back to the fire, eager to warm themselves, 
heart and soul, by the genial blaze. 

" If there 's to be a cold storm all the afternoon," 
said Vernon, "we 'd better play 'tropics,' and I 
speak for being the boa-constrictor." 

" Oh," said Marie, " you make such a big one, 
it is terrible ! If you were only delicate, like Cara, 
it would be more like ' playing.' " 

" If you want Cara to play something huge, you 
can make her the elephant," replied Vernon, who 
was the oldest of the children. " And Roger shall 
be a monkey, and Marie a lovely, red-headed cock- 
atoo, as you really are. Then " the Angel" must 
have a part assigned him. What shall it be, my 

"I'll be a man," answered Dan, with good- 
natured dignity, thrusting his fingers into his side- 
pockets over his kilt, and walking forward and 
backward with a slow step, like a sentinel. 

"All right," cried Roger; "you shall be the 
explorer who comes through the forest and finds 
us all. As for me, I am a monkey from now on ; 
and I find it dreadfully. hot all at once ! " 

Among some odds and ends, Roger hunted out 
the enamel-cloth cover to an umbrella, and this he 
pinned to his jacket as the "monkey's" tail. As 
often as necessary, however, Roger also fanned him- 
self with this article. The umbrella itself was a 



fine big, green, one, and Vernon spread it and set 
it between two chairs, and then coiled himself in 
and out of his jungle with dangerous grace; while 
Cara, dear little sylph, upset everything small and 
climbed over it ; and, in short, swept all before her 
as elephant, not forgetting to tie Dan's trum 
pet over her mouth for a rather stiff trunk 
Marie put on a little gray cape, and 
pinned her auburn braids up like a ^J_ 
tuft on her head, and sat upon a </ 
table whistling in various fash- 
ions, to represent a lively bird. 

" Now, Dan, be prepared 
to make your way through 
the forest," cried Vernon. 
" We shall all be obliged 
to attack you, as wild 
things do men ; but you 
must not be afraid. See, 
here I come, wriggling 
out from my trees and 
bushes ! " And Vernon 
hissed himself purple as 
he slid around the floor 
and then glided up to 
Dan's vicinity. " Now, 
you must run away from 
me, Dan, and then make 
up your mind to fight 
me," Vernon was say- 
ing ; but all of a sudden 
gave a splutter and 
grunt, for Dan's warm 
little shoe had come down 
on the back of his neck 
and pinned him fast. 

"No fair," called the mon- 
key from under the table, to the 
center-leg of which he was clinging. 
"You must n't really kill him, Dan, my boy ! " 

Dan had n't yet taken his fingers out of those 
pockets of which he was so proud, and now non- 
chalantly lifted his conquering toe from the boa- 
constrictor and sauntered off. Vernon was too 
much ashamed to follow his little brother at once, 
but made for the monkey, and got dreadfully mixed 
up with his tail and the pin which held it ; whi 
Dan tried to catch the cockatoo, who flew down 
from the table to the floor and hopped away, hotly 
pursued by the explorer. They both met the ele- 
phant in her war-path, who tried hard to trample 
them down, amid shouts of laughter and a good 
deal of damage from the trumpet. The elephant, 
in her peregrinations, had collected two palm-leaf 
fans, which she had hung in her hair by the handles 
for a couple of ears ; but in the heat of combat, the 
fans forsook her, instead of serving to cool her 

fury ; and when Dan seized her by her tin nose and 
trotted her all over the floor at his will, you may be 
sure the elephant's dignity was greatly impaired, 
and her own laughter crowned her defeat. 

The boa had made off at the same time with the 
monkey's tail, and hung his head down from 
the top of a bureau, with glittering eyes ; 
while Roger, who, the boa said, looked 
his part sufficiently without any tail 
at all, stood pleading for his chief 
point of distinction. 

assure you, Vernon, there 

is nothing else in the room 

that makes such a good 

tail as that ! " cried the 

monkey, tearfully. " It 's 

too bad to be able to 

understand that like a 

boy, and then keep my 

tail like a real boa! " 

" He ought to eat 
it, if he 's a real boa," 
said four-year-old Dan, 
pompously, as if he 
were accustomed to 
being the Doge of 
Venice, and settling 
nice difficulties of the 
law. "If you keep it, 
Vern, you must swallow 
it ! " he commanded. 

"I 'give it up,' then !" 

exclaimed Vernon, with 

a wriggle on the bureau, 

"for I can't think of 

the right answer to 

Dan's puzzle. Oh, you 

dear pet ! " And down 

the boa clambered, and 

coiled over his small 

brother, giving him such an 

affectionate hug that he did 

nearly choke him. 

"Oh," said Marie, "I am 
actually hot ! Playing ' trop- 
ics ' is no joke, if it is going to 
bring it on in this way." 

" You speak as if South 
America was measles," re- 
sponded Vernon ; " and I sup- 
pose we all should feel as we 
do when we have fever, if 
we roamed about under a 
broiling sun. Cara, go pick 
up your ears and pass them to us, for I feel hot. too. " 
As Vernon was speaking, the monkey wound his 
tail about his enemy's neck, and pulled him down 





to the ground, from which he had risen, as the boa 
occasionally rises from its coil ; and when Vernon 
fell there was a sound of parting splinters. 

"Oh, dear ! "cried Marie, "what is broken now?" 

" I don't know," replied Vernon, with a wry face ; 
" but whatever it is, I don't believe it feels as badly 
as 1 do ! " He got up, and Dan rushed to the 
ruins. It was his darling little red cart, which he 
loved better than all his other pet playthings, and 
the four wheels were peeping into the cart in a man- 
ner wholly at odds with the toy-maker's intentions. 

Big tears stood in " the Angel's" eyes, and his lips 
looked pinker and softer than ever, with heart-felt 
distress ; and pretty soon one of his hands slid 
out of his pocket to his face in the perfect silence 
of the nursery, while the other children breathed 
gently out of sym- 
pathy with him. 

"It 's too bad, 
my dear boy," said 
his eldest brother, 
with a trembling 
voice, " and I '11 
mend it, if I have 
to learn the car- 
penter's trade, my 
little man." 

Dan stooped 
down and put the 
lolling wheels into 
the body of the 
cart, and then took 
up the disjointed 
mass in his arms, 
without a sob. 

" Good Ver- 
non," he said, in 
sweet accents, and 
walked away to 
mourn in a nook 
alone, and try to 
arrange his cart 
into a semblance 
of its old self. 

" The Angel's" 
self-control was too 
much for Marie, 
who took down her 
cockatoo's red top- 
knot in honor of 
her feelings, and 
went to the fire to 
throw on another 
cheering back-log. '" WHO MAY TKK voukgstkb be 

Just then, when shadows hung throughout the 
play -room, the door opened, and there was Mamma ; 
and, after one of her loving looks around the circle, 
she came in with her delightful step. 

" Where 's Nurse? " said she. " It is time for 
you older children to come with me for your les- 
son ; but Dan is not old enough to learn this lesson, 
and so he has to stay behind." 

She saw' by this time that there was rain in the 
wind, and as everybody looked at Dan's back 
where he sat on the floor, she knew that something 
had happened to him. So, after ringing the bell 
for Nurse, she went over to her small son and 
found out the latest nursery news. 


"Mamma loves that cart, too," said she, cor- 
dially, " and wants to have it in her own room 
until it is mended, so that no more harm can come 
to it. And here is Nurse, and she will help take 



it into Mamma's room, where Dan shall choose the 
place he wishes it to wait in ; and then Vernon shall 
do his best to put it together — dear old cart!" 
And with a big kiss, that bright Mamma was gone, 
and " the Angel " was looking almost as happy as 
she had. 

The older children followed her, and brought 
up in the sewing-room, where great preparations 
were going on for the Christmas-tree, and for the 
costumes of Dan's brothers and sisters, who were 
to be quite transformed for Christmas Eve. There 
had been no tree for several years, because every- 
body wanted to have it a complete surprise to Dan 
when he should be old enough to thoroughly en- 
joy it. And Vernon was to be St. Nicholas ; and 
Marie, Titania ; and Roger, Robin C.oodfellow ; 
and Cara, the " Frog who would a-wooing go, with 
a hi and a ho and a gammon and spinach, heigh-ho 
for Anthony Rowley ! " which latter was a per- 
sonage in a nursery-rhyme of no easily explained 
meaning, but deeply dear to Dan's noddle at bed- 
time, when he always heard it. Of course, the 
children had to rehearse their parts for the per- 
formance, in order to conceal their real selves as 
long as possible from Dan ; and then they had to 
help make their dresses, besides collecting the 
ornaments for the tree. An hour every afternoon 
had long been devoted to this busy pastime, and 
Mamma always called it their lesson-hour, so that 
Dan should only know that they were learning 
something, and not that they were having quan- 
tities of fun, or he would never have lingered so 
patiently in the' nursery until the great day. 

Things were far advanced, as may be supposed, 
on that stormy afternoon, for the next evening 
would be Christmas Eve; and Cara's green sarcenet 
frog-dress, with yellow spots, had to be tried on, 
and her outer head (which looked dreadfully like a 
frog's) stuffed with a little more wool. Then down 
she sat on the floor, and between long pauses gave 
a jump, with so much effort (on account of her 
awkward position) that she looked for all the world 
like a frog, which never seems quite contented with 
its own style of getting about. 

Titania was very beautiful in a gown of feathery 
aspect, covered with pearls and spangles which 
had each been put on by her own fingers, and bor- 
dered by a fringe of shells of her own gathering 
that hung down in drops and tinkled together. 
And she. had a long white veil of several thick- 
nesses of tulle, so that her face was rather indis- 
tinct. And oh, how her wand sparkled with a large 
paste diamond on its tip, and a thread of steel 
beads wound down its whole length ! 

Roger had had all his ten fingers in the pie of 
making his own costume, and had used more paste 
in sticking paper on his mask than any boy ever 

handled before — which was one of his objects. 
Mamma said, for many a day afterward, that he 
had even succeeded in getting paste on the sewing- 
room ceiling, by dropping one end of Marie's wand 
into the paste-bowl (an accident, no doubt) and 
then tumbling over the other end, which sent 
everything flying. Then, too, Roger had a way of 
drying his sticky fingers on his hair, so that after 
awhile, if you touched him in the neighborhood 
of his head, you were apt to get scratched, as if 
with cork-screws. Toward all remarks and excla- 
mations of disgust, Roger remained calm and 
silent; for he was having a lovely time, and could n't 
stop to argue. 

Vernon's mamma seemed to take immense de- 
light in turning him into an old man as soon as 
possible, and knit him a flowing beard and curly 
wig of light-gray split zephyr, and then sprinkled 
it well with little bits of wool and a glittering dust 
for snow-flakes. His cap and muffler were made 
of crocheted silver thread, which Vernon had been 
taught to work himself; and his coat was cut out 
of Papa's faded purple velvet dressing-gown. His 
leggings were fashioned out of old white satin, 
with wool snow-flakes and more sparkling dust ; 
and his switch was a bundle of twigs covered with 
tiny tin bells. 

The old storm, which usually comes around at 
Christmas Eve, staid to see the celebrations all 
over town, and the fine snow-flakes scattered them- 
selves about next day, and got on people's noses, 
and stuck in their eyes, and tried to peep into the 
bundles of presents which were being carried to 
every house. But oh, how the great parlor, emp- 
tied of its tables, and its floor covered with white 
linen, and with its white and gold wood-work, 
looked at six o'clock ! The wonder-tree was alight 
near the middle of the room, and the fairy children, 
St. Nicholas, and Titania, were gliding near it, 
while Robin Goodfellow capered in and out of 
every corner. At the tree's foot sat the frog. 

" Bravo! " cried Papa, laughing gayly. " This 
is a grand success, and dear old Dan must be 
called forthwith ! " 

So Mamma went to bring the small fellow for 
vvhom all this magic and frolic had been planned ; 
and presently he was heard chatting on the stairs, 
as he came down. The little brothers and sisters 
waited with bated breath to see his face, eager to 
find that he was enchanted by their work. The 
door at the end of the room was thrown open, and 
Dan ran in. 

In a moment, he stood transfixed. His bright, 
expressive eyes shone back at the gleaming tree, 
and his fair, waving hair fell like a gauzy veil from 
under its golden cap over his forehead. 

" Oh, tree of stars ! " he said. 




" Darling child," called Titania, in an even voice, 
coming toward him all sparkling like a mist, "how 
do you do, this pleasant Christmas Eve? " 

"Are you real, or a talking doll?" Dan asked, 
stoutly, but feeling as if it was time to find out 
just where he might be. 

" 1 am the Oueen of the Fairies," answered she, 
"who always does what is kind in your fairy tales. 
And here is St. Nicholas, hobbling up to us, who 
is always old, just as I am always young." 

" Ho, ho ! " cried St. Nicholas, in a deep bass, 
dropping some big apples and oranges out of the 
bag over his arm as he approached. "Who may 
this little youngster be, who, I hear, never saw a 
Christmas-tree till to-night ? " 

"My name is Daniel Fairmont Roseley," replied 
Dan, with pomp, "and I think you are a very nice 
man. I have heard of you. Pray, sit down," and 
then Dan turned to Titania, slipping a couple of 
fingers into his sash, as was his wont, and speak- 
ing in a tone of great deference ; "please sit down, 
or fly, whichever you like best." 

Titania and St. Nicholas laughed and twirled 
around on their toes, and Robin Goodfellow, who 
really was a naughty rogue, came scampering up ; 
and St. Nicholas shook his switch of silvery bells 
at him. Then the Frog hopped slowly out from 
under the tree and all at once rolled over on the 
floor with a burst of laughter; and pop ! off came 
Cara's green head with its big mouth and eyes, 
and her pretty flaxen curls peeped about her 

At this, Dan gave a tremendous shout, and Papa 
and Mamma chimed in, together with Nurse and 
everybody in the hall; and Titania went sailing 
and whirling hither and thither, like a dancing 
dove, for sheer merriment. 

" How did you get in there, Cara ? " asked Dan, 
going„up to the little green heap of sarcenet on the 
white carpet, and placing his hands on his knees 
while he took a good look. " Do you want your 
other head again, dear ? " 

Just then, Robin Goodfellow blew a tiny horn at 
Dan's ear, and made him turn about with a jerk ; 
but Robin was ever so far away before his rosy 
victim stopped winking, and who could only run 
after him. Then Titania called out in her clear, 
high tones : 

"There are presents for 'the Angel' on this 
tree ! Come and see what they are ! " 

Dan knew his pet name well, and dashed up to the 
tree from pursuit of Robin, his cheeks as red with 
all this fun as if he had been out on a sleigh-ride. 

Titania waved her sparkling wand, and then St. 
Nicholas reached up to a branch and cried : 

" Here 's a little purse with Daniel's name on it ; 
does that little boy know what to do with it ? It 

says on the outside, ' Give this to the poor.' Are 
you willing to give all this money to the poor? " 

" The sick-looking people on the street?" asked 

" Yes,", said Titania. 

Dan thought awhile, feeling the soft purse with 
all his small fresh fingers. 

" Yes, I do want to," he replied at last, looking 
up at the tree. " Because they were not invited 
to our great Christmas Eve ! " 

Here Robin gave Dan another merry jump by 
blowing his wee horn at his elbow, and shooting 
off again. 

" You funny-looking thing ! " called Dan. " What 
makes you dance so ? Does the floor scorch your 
toes ? " 

Papa laughed loudly at this, and Mamma's 
sweet notes rang in ; and everybody in the hall 
chuckled again. 

" Hallo, here's another present for Dan Fair- 
mont," calls St. Nicholas. " A French doll forhim 
to give as a present to his sister Cara. Will you 
give it to her, Dan ? Or shall you keep it yourself? " 

Dan took the doll, and looked into its face 

" I like it," said he. 

"Yes, but so would Cara," Titania remarked 
in a gentle voice. 

Cara stood by, gazing with wide open eyes at 
her possible treasure. 

"Oh, Dan, I hope I know what you are going 
to say ! " she gasped. 

" Take it ! " he gulped ; but instantly drew dolly 
back. Then he kissed it and hugged it, and thrust 
out his arm again. " You are Cara's dolly," he 
said firmly, scowling a little. And Cara pounced 
upon it immediately. 

Here Goodfellow performed a wild, original reel, 
all by himself, and to a song of his own, criss- 
crossing down the center of the saloon, and ended 
up with a somersault. This seemed to inspire 
Cara, who put on her green head and began frog- 
jumping, singing aloud the rhyme which Dan had 
heard every night for a year. 

The boy was delighted beyond measure, and he 
followed Froggie's doublings to catch every word, 
and to hasten the jumping process with a sturdy 
little push upon Froggie's shoulder. 

Suddenly, he stood still and turned all around. 

" Where are Marie, and Vernon, and Roger? " 
he exclaimed, in a frightened voice. " Oh, Mamma, 
why did not you tell them there was everything in 
the parlor to-night ? " And he ran up to her, look- 
ing very solemn. 

" Oh, you must find them, Dan, my pet," said 
Papa, giving him a toss up on his shoulder and 
down again. 



J 3i 

"You must ask Titania if she can help you," 
added his mother. 

" Naughty Titania ! " said Dan. " Do you think 
you are good, when you let my sister stay in the 
dark while you sparkle so? My sister would be 
more polite, if she were you." 

At this, Marie threw back her veil and knelt 
down before Dan, who looked a trifle scared ; and 
then flung his arms around her neck and tried, 
apparently, to dance off with it; which ended in a 
heap of tarlatan and screams, and Dan's black 
velvet body and rosy, white-socked legs showing 
here and there in the veil. 

And now, what had naughty Robin done but 
gone hovering about the tree with a stage-strut, 
looking at all the presents through his mask, and 
calling out : 

" Where 's Roger Roscley ; where 's that sweet 
child, I say ? He wants his presents badlv, I 
know ! " 

A very queer fragrance pervaded the parlor at 
that moment, and Roger's heavily pasted and 
scarcely dry nose was seen to smoke like a new- 
sort of chimney. 

" Oh, dear ! " he shrieked, " I believe my paste 
is cooking over again, Mamma ! Do untie my 
face, somebody ! " 

Papa had rushed to him and dragged him away 
from the small candle which had too cordially 
accosted his big paper nose, and St. Nicholas 
showered a volley of thumps at him with his musi- 
cal birch, and Mamma took the delinquent aside 
and talked to him about the danger he had been in 
from going too near the dazzling bough. It must 
be confessed that the expression of Roger's funny 
mask in contrast to his dejected figure, during this 
whispered lecture, nearly cost Mamma a laugh, in 
spite of her alarm. 

" So that was Roger," said Dan, musingly ; and 
walked up to St. Nicholas. " Did you ever hear 
of Vernon Roseley ? " asked he, with a merry twitch 
of the lip. 

St. Nicholas doubled himself over, and roared 
like the winter wind in the country. 

" Oh, you little duck ! " he cried. " Don't you 
think I am too old to know the names of such 
young folks as Vernon ? " 

" I think, if you let me pull your beard," Dan 
said, "that it will come off!" And he whirled 
around on his heel with his splendid deep laugh, 
ending in a silvery chuckle, which nobody could 
hear without wishing to be able to laugh in the 
same way. 

" Come, St. Nicholas, come," called Papa from 
the tree. " If you can prove that you are really 
Vernon, you shall have a present — a box of very 
fine minerals from Marie." 

This was too overwhelming for old St. Nicholas, 
who dropped his infirm step at once, and strode 
quickly to his father. 

So everybody was discovered, and all the pres- 
ents distributed. Dan had a number of new treas- 
ures to add to his old stores, and he piled them in a 
sort of triumphal heap upon the floor; and by and 
by, when Nurse reminded him that there was still 
bread and milk in the world, and the "heigh-ho 
for Anthony Rowley " waiting in the book — at this 
point, without more words, Dan became sleepy, and 
walked away from the scene. 

Small guests arrived for an hour's frolic ; and 
a dainty collation was served at one end of the 
parlor, in full sight of the wonderful lighted fir. 
The old snow-storm was still flickering down from 
the dark heavens, so said the little guests ; but it 
did not creep indoors at the Roseleys'. And it is 
doubtful whether it ever will. 






By Julian Hawthorne. 

When Almion arrived at the pit that day, the 
gloomy clouds had thickened over the valley, and the 
mountain was quite shut out of sight. But Almion 
did not trouble himself about that ; his business 
was not with the mountain or the valley, but with 
the pit, where the gold-dust lay. So he clambered 
down and set to work, digging and sifting, and 
chanting the same old song ; and the grains of dust 
rose higher and higher in his bucket. By evening, 
it was heaping full, and so heavy that he could 
hardly carry it. His heart was also heavy, as if 
the golden grains were beginning to sift into it 
and transform it into lifeless metal. 

However, he toiled slowly up the steep sides of 
the pit, and when he came to the brink there was 
a fine sight, indeed ! He beheld a beautiful young 
girl, clad in a costly robe, with a golden diadem 
on her yellow hair, and an air of great stateliness 

and dignity. 

What it was about her that made 
him know she had ever been the ugly, hooded old 
woman of the market-place, he could not have 
told ; and yet, so it was. But now, at all events, 
she was. a charming creature, about his own age, 
with the manners and appearance of a princess. 
Yes, a princess ; and what other princess could she 
be than the one he had seen in his dream ? She 



was not exactly like her, it is true ; there was a 
difference, — it would be hard to say what; but 
probably it was only such a difference as there 
must always be between a dream and a reality. 
She greeted him with a most enchanting smile. 

" My dear, beautiful, wealthy Almion," she said, 
"at last our troubles are over! You have done 
your work, and now all that remains for us is to 
enjoy our riches and our happiness. Your gar- 
ment is all finished, and to-morrow you shall put 
it on and become my prince. We will sit side by 
side at our ease, and look down upon all the rest 
of the world, and fare sumptuously every day. 
Until now, I have been compelled to wear a dis- 
guise ; but hereafter you must know me as the 
Princess Auria, and we belong to each other 

"And Mona — what is to become of her?" 
inquired Almion. 

"Oh! she will not trouble us much longer," 
replied Auria, tossing her head; "nor must you 
think of her any more. She is a lazy, malicious 
little wretch, and when she sees you in your jew- 
eled garment, and knows how happy we are, I 
should n't wonder if she were to die of spite." 

Almion said nothing, but went homeward gloom- 
ily, with his eyes fixed on the ground and his 
heart heavier than ever. He had won beauty and 
riches and a princess ; and yet, for some reason 
or other, he was not happy. That must be a mis- 
take, however ; he must be happy, only he had not 
yet become so accustomed to happiness as to know 
what it was. When he had had his supper and 
a good night's sleep, and had sat at his ease beside 
Auria, and looked down at all the rest of the world, 
— then, no doubt, he would be as happy as the day- 
is long. 

When they reached home, a sumptuous banquet 
was already set out on the table; and Mona was 
nowhere to be seen, though Almion fancied that 
he caught a glimpse of a little bundle of black 
rags, huddled up in a corner of the kitchen, which 
might have been she. But Auria was so hand- 
some, her eyes were so blue, and her cheeks were 
so rosy, and her hair was so yellow, and she talked 
to Almion and admired him in such a soft and 
charming way, that the idea of troubling himself 
about such a miserable little wretch as Mona 
seemed absurd. Auria brought out the garment 
that he was to wear in the morning, and really it 
was magnificent, though so heavy that Almion 
could hardly lift it. But since he was going to sit 
at his ease for the rest of his days, that did not so 
much matter. 

So he sat down to supper, and Auria sat opposite 
to him ; but, although all the viands were so 
delicate and so exquisitely cooked, and though 

Vol. XL— 16. 

Auria kept pressing him to cat and tempting him 
with one dish after another, Almion felt no appetite, 
and was able to swallow scarcely anything. He 
almost wished that he had never awakened from 
that pleasant dream that had come to him on 
the borders of the new country ; for then he had 
thought that there was something better to do in 
the world than to dig all day in a dust-hole, or 
even to sit in a jeweled robe and look down on 
other people. He was tired of looking down ; he 
would have liked to look up, for a change. But 
what was there to look up to ? There was the 
dream-princess, — he might have looked up to her, 
for she had seemed to him like some holy spirit 
descended from heaven. And yet, since she was 
but a dream-princess, she could have lasted no 
longer than the dream ; or, if there were anything 
real in her, then Auria must be that reality. 
Almion looked at Auria ; she was smooth and 
smiling and handsome, but he could not look up 
to her, for she sat directly in front of him. When 
supper was over, she got up and went into the 
kitchen, and he heard her voice — the harsh, 
cracked, angry voice of the old woman. What 
was she doing to poor Mona? In order not to be 
troubled by this thought, Almion stretched out his 
weary limbs and tried to go to sleep. 

He could not sleep at first, though he was not 
quite awake, either ; but lay in a half dream, so 
that the sounds and movements that went on 
around him seemed strange and fantastic. He 
fancied that Auria had laid aside all her comeli- 
ness and youth, as one lays aside a mask, and was 
once more the hideous old woman of the market- 
place. And now she was creeping on tip-toe to- 
ward the corner of the kitchen where Mona was 
lying. She pounced upon her with a shriek of 
triumph, as a great cat pounces on a mouse ; and 
in a moment she had bound her, hand and foot, 
and laid her out upon the hearth. Almion looked 
to see whether Mona made any resistance, but she 
lay quite still, and only a faint fluttering of the 
heart showed that any life was left in her. " If I 
were awake," said Almion to himself, " I would 
not let that old hag use the poor creature so." 
But he could not move any more than Mona. 
Now the old woman was scraping together all the 
gold-dust that Almion had dug and sifted during 
his three days in the pit. She came up to Mona, 
with the dust in her hands, and began to spread 
it all over her motionless form, until it was quite 
covered up, and nothing was to be seen of Mona 
but a mound of dust. "But, after all. this is 
nothing but a nightmare." said Almion to him- 
self. Then all became dark and still, and Almion 
sank into a still deeper sleep ; and by and by he 
had a vision. 




It seemed to him that Mona had come out of 
the kitchen and was standing at his bedside. She 
was as slender and fragile as a spirit, and she was 
robed in a garment of gray mist, and a veil was 
over her face. Yet he felt that she was gazing at 
him, and that her gaze was mournful and tender. - 
And he gazed back, in his dream, trying to see 
through the misty veil. Then slowly, slowly, 
beneath his gaze, the veil melted away, and he 
beheld a face that made his heart burn and trem- 
ble. Ah, why had he not known her before? He 
did not know that his eyes had been darkened by 
a pair of horn spectacles, which the old woman 
had slipped over them while he slept so heavily, 
the first night he spent in her house. But now 
it was too late ; for, as he continued to gaze at 
Mona, she seemed to move slowly away from him, 
as a memory vanishes away from us, though we 
try to call it back. And now she was gone ! 

All at once, Almion awoke. It was still dark 
night, and the air was full of mysterious meaning 
and muttering; for the spirits of the storm were 
rousing themselves, and would soon be rushing 
and howling abroad. Almion, too, arose, and 
stood erect, listening and peering into the dark- 
ness. Through the door-way of the kitchen came 
a little glimmer of light, from the dying embers 
on the hearth. With a light step, and holding his 
breath, Almion stole toward it. Yes, there lay 
Mona, motionless, with the yellow dust all sifted 
over her. Almion bent down and gently blew it 
off. How paie her face was ! and her star-like eyes 
were closed. But there was a spark of life left in 
her still, even as there was a spark of fire in the 
embers. Almion stooped and lifted her in his 
arms ; but cither he had grown very weak or 
Mona, in spite of her slender fragility, was 
strangely heavy ; it was all his strength could do 
to hold her. He staggered with her to the door 
of the house, trying to make no noise lest he 
should awaken Auria. But behold ! there lay, 
directly across the threshold. — not Auria, indeed, 
but the hideous hag who had worn the Auria 
mask. She was asleep, with a malicious grin upon 
her lips; for the old witch was dreaming how, by 
the cunning of her wicked enchantments, she had 
got Almion into her power, and had almost de- 
stroyed the only guardian power that could redeem 
him. But her victory was not yet complete. 
Gathering Mona more closely in his arms, Almion 
summoned all his strength to leap across the 
threshold ; but, as he did so, his foot touched the old 
woman's shoulder, and with a cry the witch awoke ! 

" Fly, fly !" whispered a voice in Almion's ear; 
" fly, or we are lost ! " 

He fled on, stumbling through the darkness 
and panting with the strain of the heavy weight he 

bore, — so heavy that he thought it must drag him 
to the earth. Yet he kept on, for the faint voice 
in his ear was like the call of a trumpet to his heart ; 
it was the voice of the dream-princess from whom 
he had so nearly been separated forever. He fled 
toward the dark valley ; but now the storm burst 
forth and shrieked in his face, and the wind and 
tire fierce rain drove against him, and the light- 
ning divided the darkness, and the thunder shud- 
dered and rumbled in the black heavens. And as 
he fled, he saw that the village, with all its inhab- 
itants, had vanished ; they had been but a part of 
the witch's enchantments, helping to beguile Al- 
mion into mistaking the dirt of the pit for gold 
and smothering his soul to death in it. But the 
witch herself had not vanished : she was following 
close behind them, carrying with her the garment 
of gold and jewels which she had woven for Al- 
mion. And well might she carry it, for it was 
upon that garment that her power over Almion 
depended. It was woven, warp and woof, out of 
the selfishness and greediness that nature spins 
around men's hearts as a spider spins its web ; and 
if she could once succeed in throwing it over Al- 
mion's shoulders, he was lost forever. But the 
wind became entangled in the garment, and strug- 
gled with it so furiously that the old witch could 
scarcely keep her hold upon it, and it prevented 
her from running so fast as she would otherwise 
have done. Almion, therefore, burdened though 
he was by Mona's weight, was able to keep a little 
in advance ; but just before he reached the verge 
of the plain, where it overhung the valley, he 
stumbled and fell, and a great terror passed over 
his soul ; but he still held Mona safely. 

Then the witch laughed, for she thought her 
victory was secure. And in a moment she had 
re-assumed the smiling and rosy mask of Auria; 
and when Almion lifted up his eyes from his fall, 
he saw her standing there, between him and the 
valley, holding out the jeweled garment in her 

"Dear Almion," she said, in her softest voice, 
"what madness has come over you? Why do 
you fly from your Auria, who loves you and serves 
you? And why do you carry that dead creature 
in your arms? Throw her down, and let me wrap 
you in this garment, and you shall be the greatest 
prince in the world. Throw her down into the 
valley, and return with me." 

The witch said this because she had not the 
power to cast the garment over Almion so long as 
he clung to Mona. But if she could separate them, 
then Almion was hers. 

'• I will not throw her down," replied he, strug- 
gling to his feet. " I have found her, and I will 
never leave her." 



" She has left you already," said the other, "for 
she is dead ; that body that you carry, and which 
weighs so heavily, has no life in it. Throw it 
away, and come back with me to ease and happi- 

He looked at Mona, and she seemed lifeless in- 
deed ; her face was like marble. But tears gushed 
to his eyes as he answered : " Dead or alive, I will 
never leave her; and I will have no ease or happi- 
ness except with her." 

"Whither will you carry her? " asked Auria. 

" Through the valley and up the mountain," he 

"You would perish by the way," she said. "Yet, 
if you will go, I will guide you thither, for only by 
my help can you find the road. Give Mona to me, 
and wrap yourself in your garment, and I will fly 
with you to the mountain-top in the twinkling of 
an eye." 

" I will not go with you," said Almion. 

The witch trembled with rage, but she made one 
last effort. 

"Almion," she cried, "I have done all this to 
try you, — to prove whether you were really worthy 
of my love. You have withstood the test, and 
now I will declare myself to you : I am the true 
Mona, — the princess of your dream, — your guard- 
ian angel ! That burden you carry is but a figure 
that I have made in my own image. Cast her 
down, and claim your own Mona ! " 

Then Almion became indignant, and his indig- 
nation renewed his strength. He struggled to his 
feet, still holding the form of Mona, and exclaimed : 

" You are false and wicked ! And I have been 
your slave; but your power over me is ended. 
This is my princess, and you shall not part us. 
Stand aside and let me pass ; for, with Mona as 
my guardian, I am mightier and more terrible 
than you ! " 

So saying, he strode boldly forward ; and the 
witch, with a long howl of hate and fury, resumed 
her proper form, and was swallowed up in the 
earth. But Almion stood for a moment on the 
verge of the dark valley, and then sprang forward 
into the abyss. 

And even as he sprang he felt a change come 
over him, and Mona stirred and breathed, and 
awakened from her death-like trance ; and her form 
was no longer heavy, but lighter than the air. so 
that her lightness bore him up ; and, instead of 
being dashed to pieces against the rocks at the 
bottom of the valley, they ended their fearful flight 
through the air as softly as a feather from a bird's 
wing touches the earth. The storm had passed 
away, and in the deep sky above them the stars 
shone out. Mona took Almion by the hand, and 
said : "Come, we shall vet find the right gold and 

the true beauty. But we have far to go, and the 
way is dark and perilous. Lose no time, therefore, 
but follow me." 

So Almion followed his guide with a trusting 
and quiet heart, though she led him straight down 
into the depths of that wild and awful valley. They 
went onward, but slowly; for great bowlders of 
rock rose up and opposed their progress, and 
tangled vines coiled themselves like snakes across 
their path, and rude brambles stretched out their 
thorns like claws and strove to hold them back. 
And they passed by yawning caverns, in the 
depths of which glowed the savage eyes of wild 
beasts ; and through obscure ravines, which echoed 
with the bark and whine of wolves and the snarl- 
ing of hungry tigers. At other times, their feet 
were chilled by the slimy waters of a pathless 
morass, in which Almion had surely been lost but 
for Mona's unerring guidance. Now the air about 
them was stirred by the silent wings of birds of 
the night, and bats, which are to the air what 
reptiles are to the earth ; and here and there phan- 
tom lights moved over the surface of the swamp, 
now seeming to retreat before them and now to 
follow them in pursuit. But, through all, Mona 
moved onward toward the distant mountain, 
though even its topmost summit was now hidden 
from Almion's eyes by the surrounding rocks and 
pines. Still the path plunged downward, until it 
seemed as if it would lead them to the center of 
the earth, and that never again could they hope to 
breathe the upper air. At this depth, all presence 
of living creatures, save themselves, ceased ; no 
vegetation softened the naked rocks : the very 
atmosphere was dead and still, and a profound 
silence, more appalling than any sounds, brooded 
over all. The heavens above were shut out by the 
beetling cliffs, and Almion's spirit began to faint 
within him. 

"Mona, Mona," he whispered, "I dare go no 
further. There is no bottom to this abyss, and no 
hope that I can ever ascend from it to the mountain. 
— if, indeed, there be any mountain, which I al- 
most doubt." 

" Would you go back, Almion? " said Mona. 

" No, that I never will," he replied. " But my 
spirit faints in this darkness and solitude, and I 
have no hope. Leave me here to die, if it must 
be so." 

" You shall not die, Almion." she answered. 
"nor shall the darkness and the solitude drive 
away your hope. Hold fast my hand, and close 
your eyes, and you shall see something that will 
comfort you." 

Almion did as she bade him : and soon, as it 
were, through his closed eyelids, he became aware 
of a distant brightness, small at first, but seeming 




to grow nearer and larger. At last, it appeared 
as a great door-way, through which came troop- 
ing many glorioii-. and lovely figures, whose faces 
shone with cheerfulness and peace. Down they 
came into the dark valley, and gathered about 
Almion with looks and smiles of encouragement; 
so that, instead of being alone, as he had thought 
he was, this heavenly retinue encompassed him on 
every side. And Mona said: "All these have 
been through the valley before us, and some of them 
had to pass through even profounder abysses than 
we ; yet all, at last, reached the mountain, and 
their hope did not fail them." 

"Your hand in mine helps me more than all,'' 
said Almion. 

With that he opened his eyes ; and behold, the 
valley lay behind them, and they were upon the 
side of the mountain. The air was fresh and pure, 
and the dawn was beginning to break ; even now 
the highest peaks were tinted with rosy light. A 
delicious vigor, such as he had never known before, 
began to grow warm in Almion's limbs and to 
brighten in his eyes. He stepped forward joyfully, 
but Mona still led the way. As they mounted 
higher and higher, leaving the dark valley far be- 
neath, the great splendor of the coming sun kin- 
dled all the east, and the stars in the vault of 
heaven withdrew themselves one by one. All 
things were undergoing a wondrous transforma- 
tion, and out of gloom and emptiness came forth 
beauty and life. And Almion saw how the robe 
of misty gray that Mona wore was illuminated by 
the increasing light, until it took on once more the 
celestial tints that he remembered the first night 
of his dream, only now it had the more vivid luster 
of a waking vision. Then, with a sense of shame 
and humility, he remembered how mean and shabby 
was his own appearance. His garments were torn 
by the brambles of the valley, and he was stained 
by the slimy waters of the swamp, and he was not 
even cleansed from the defilement of the dust-pit 

in which he had toiled for the witch's gold. He 
paused and hung his head. 

"Come, dear Almion," said Mona; "we are 
nearly at our journey's end." 

" I can not come, Mona," he murmured sadly. 
" I am not fit to tread this holy mountain, nor to 
be seen with those who came out of the door to 
meet us. I have brought no beauty, nor any riches, 
but only poverty and ugliness. Let me go down 
again to the valley, for it is better I should be there 
than here." 

Mona made no answer in words ; but she smiled 
upon him with her star-like eyes, and pointed 
toward the east. 

Almion looked ; and the sun rose up above the 
margin of the waiting world, and flooded all the 
earth, and turned the mountain top on which they 
stood into a spire of gold. Its rays fell upon 
Almion, and clothed him with a radiance more 
beautiful than all the gorgeous accouterment of 
kings. It placed an airy diadem on Mona's head, 
and revealed all the love and loveliness of the 
countenance which she turned upon Almion. 

" This is the right gold, dear Almion," she 
said, '" and it is all yours, for the lord of our coun- 
try gives it to you. And all the beauty that you 
see in me is yours, for it was your bravery and 
devotion that saved me from the witch and lent 
me the power to guide you through the dark valley. 
And all the love of the inhabitants of this kingdom 
is yours, because you were merciful and pitiful, 
and chose to plunge into the abyss with me rather 
than to live in ease and luxury without me. So 
come with me, and be at peace ! " 

Nevertheless, Almion still hung his head, for 
he felt that, of himself, he could do nothing, and 
that he was unworthy of this happiness. But Mona 
held fast his hand, and drew him on along a bright 
ascent of clouds, until, with a distant triumph of 
music, they vanished into a region whither our eyes 
can not follow them. 

By Emilie Poulsson. 

One Christmas eve, when Santa Claus 

Came to a certain house, 
To fill the children's stockings there, 

He found a little mouse. 

A merry Christmas, little friend," 

Said Santa, good and kind. 
The same to you, sir," said the mouse ; 

" I thought you would n't mind 

i88 4 .] 



" If I should stay awake to-night 
And watch you for awhile." 

" You 're very welcome, little mouse," 
Said Santa, with a smile. 

And then he filled the stockings up 
Before the mouse could wink, — 

From toe to top, from top to toe, 
There was n't left a chink. 

" Now, they wont hold another thing," 
Said Santa Claus, with pride. 
A twinkle came in mouse's eyes, 
But humbly he replied : 

"It 's not polite to contradict, — 
Your pardon I implore, — 
But in the fullest stocking there 
/ could put one thing more." 

"Oh, ho!" laughed Santa, "silly mouse 
Don't I know how to pack ? 

By filling stockings all these years, 
I should have learned the knack." 

And then he took the stocking down 
From where it hung so high, 

And said: "Now put in one thing more; 
I give you leave to try." 

The mousie chuckled to himself, 

And then he softly stole 
Right to the stocking's crowded toe 

And gnawed a little hole ! 

" Now, if you please, good Santa Claus, 
I Ye put in one thing more ; 
For you will own that little hole 
Was not in there before." 

How Santa Claus did laugh and laugh ! 
And then he gayly spoke : 
" Well ! you shall have a Christmas cheese 
For that nice little joke." 

2 3 8 



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\V I N T E R F U X . 



By William O. Stoddard. 

(Continued from page 22 of the November number.) 

Chapter II. 

VOSH Stebbins hurried away from Deacon 
Farnham's a little after supper, but he had under- 
stood his duty precisely, all along; for the first 
words of his mother, on his return, were : 

''Made you stay to tea, did they? Well, I 
would n't have had you not stay for anything. 
Susie 's brought her brother with her this time, 
has she ? Sit right down, and I wont say one word 
till you get through. And I want to know " 

" Miss Farnham wants a dozen of eggs — " 

" You don't say ! Well, take 'em right over, 
but don't wait a minute. Tell her our poultry 's 
doing well, and I don't see why she does n't ever 
have any kind of luck with her chickens. She 
does n't manage right, I'm afraid." 

Vosh had his eggs in a basket and was out of the 
door before his mother had said half she wanted to 
about the best way of caring for poultry in cold 
weather. He obeyed orders, however, and came 
back at once, to sit still and put in a few words, 
here and there, while Mrs. Stebbins told him all 
he had done and said, and all anybody else had 
done and said, at Deacon Farnham's tea-table. It 
seemed as if she could almost have gone right on 
and told him all that was being done and said 
around the big sitting-room fire, where he so much 
desired to be, just then. 

There was a good deal of pleasant talk there ; 
but Mrs. Farnham insisted upon it that her niece 
and nephew must be tired with their long journey, 
and that they must go to bed in good season. 

The last words Porter Hudson heard anybody 
say, that night, just before he shut the door of his 
bedroom, came from Penelope: "You need n't 
wait for me to ring the second bell in the morning, 
and you 'd better come right down into the sitting- 
room, where it 's warm." 

It had taken three generations of hard-working 
and well-to-do Farnhams to build that great, queer, 
comfortable old farm-house. Each had made some 
addition, on one side or another, and there was 
room in it now for a very large family. So Porter 
Hudson had a good-sized chamber all to himself; 
but he remarked, after he got into it: 

" No furnace heaters in this house. Of course 
not. They don't have such things in the country." 

He had never before slept on a feather bed ; but 

he was not at all sorry to burrow into one, that 
night, out of the frosty air of his room. 

It was as dark as a pocket when he heard the 
clang of Pen's "first bell," next morning, but he 
sprang out of bed at once. 

One glance through the frosty window-panes 
told him how little of the country around could be 
seen in winter before sunrise. In another instant 
all his thoughts were centered on the great fire- 
place down-stairs, and he dressed himself very 
quickly. He thought he had never seen a finer 
looking fire, the moment he was able to rub his 
hands in front of it. 

Mrs. Farnham was there, too, setting the break- 
fast table and smiling on him, and Porter's next 
thought was, that his aunt was the rosiest, pleasant- 
est, most comfortable of women. 

" It would take a good deal of cold weather to 
freeze her," he said to himself, and he was right. 

He could hear Aunt Judith, out in the kitchen, 
complaining to Susie and Pen that everything in 
the milk-room had frozen ; and when Corry and his 
father came in from feeding the stock, they both 
declared that it was a "splendid, frosty, nipping 
kind of a morning." They looked as if it might be, 
and Porter hitched his chair a little nearer the fire, 
but Corry added : " Now for some fun, Port." 

" All right. What is it?" 

" We 're going to the woods after breakfast. 
You and I '11 take our guns with us and see if we 
can't knock over some rabbits. I 'II take father's 
gun and you can take mine." 

Just then Pen's voice sounded from the kitchen, 
excitedly: "Do you hear that, Susie? They're 
going to the woods ! Let's go ! " 

" Oh, if they '11 let us! " 

" Of course they will " 

•• Penelope Farnham ! Lookout for those cakes ! " 

" I 'm turning 'em, Aunt Judith. I 'm minding 
'em every minute, — Susie, those sausages are al- 
most done ; let me take them out for you." 

"No, Pen. I want to cook them all myself. 
You take care of your cakes." 

Buckwheat cakes and home-made sausages — 
what a breakfast that was for a frosty morning ! 

Susie Hudson would have been puzzled to say 
which she enjoyed most, the cooking or the eat- 
ing, and she certainly did her share of both very 
well, for a voting ladv from the city. 




" Port, can you shoot ? " asked Corry, somewhat 
suddenly, at table. 

"Shoot? I should say so. Do you ever get 
anything bigger than rabbits out here ? " 

"Didn't you know? Why, right back from 
where we 're going this morning are the mountains. 
And then, there is n't a farm, till you get away out 
into the St. Lawrence River country." 

" Yes, I know all that." 

" Well, sometimes the deer come right down 
among us, especially in winter. Last winter a bear 
came down and stole one of our pigs. But we 
followed the bear, and we got him ; Yosh Stebbins 
and father and I." 

Porter tried hard to look as if he were quite ac- 
customed to following and killing all the bears that 
meddled with his pigs, but Pen exclaimed : " Now, 
Susie, you need n't be scared a bit. There wont 
be a single bear, not where we 're going." 

"Wont there ?" said Susie, almost regretfully. 
" How I'd like to see one ! " 

There was a good deal more to be said about 
bears and other wild creatures and, just as break- 
fast was over, there came a great noise of rattling 
and creaking and shouting in front of the sitting- 
room windows ; and " there he is ! " said Corry. 

Susie and her brother hurried to look, and there 
was Vosh Stebbins, with Deacon Farnham's great 
" wood-sleigh," drawn by two pairs of strong, long- 
horned, placid-looking oxen. " Couldn't one pair 
draw it ? " asked Porter of Corry. 

" Guess they could, but two pairs can do it more 
easily, and beside, they 've nothing else to do. 
We'll heap it up, too. You '11 see." 

There was not long to wait, for the excitement 
rose fast in the sitting-room, and Susie and Pen 
were in that sleigh a little in advance of anybody 
else. Its driver stood by the heads of his first 
yoke of oxen, and Susie at once exclaimed : 

" Good-morning, Vosh. What a whip ! " 

"Why, Susie," said Pen; "that is n't a whip, 
it 's an ox- gad." 

" That 's it," said Vosh, but,he seemed disposed 
to talk to his oxen rather than to anybody else. 
The yoke next the sleigh stood on either side of a 
long, heavy "tongue," to the end of which the 
forward pair were fastened by a chain, which passed 
between them to a hook in their yoke. These 
forward oxen animals, as Vosh explained to Susie, 
"were only about half-educated, and they took 
more than their share of drivin'." 

He began to pay attention to them, now, and it 
was half a wonder to see how accurately the huge 
beasts kept the right track, down through the gate, 
and out into the road. It seemed easier then, for 
all they had to do was to go straight ahead. 

"Let me take the whip. Do, please," said 

Susie, and Vosh only remarked, as he handed it 
to her : " Guess you '11 find it heavy." 

She lifted it with both hands, and a smile illu- 
minated his broad, ruddy face, as she made a 
desperate effort to swing the lash over the oxen. 

" Go 'long, now ! Get up ! Cluck — cluck ! " 

She chirruped to the oxen with all her might, 
while Vosh put his handkerchief over his mouth 
and had a violent fit of coughing. 

" Boys," shouted her uncle, from behind the 
sleigh, " you 'd better put down your guns. Lay 
them flat, and don't step on 'em." 

Porter Hudson had clung to his gun manfully, 
from the. moment it was handed him. He had 
carried it over his shoulder, slanting it a little 
across toward the other shoulder. He had seen 
whole regiments of city soldiers do that, and so 
he knew it was the correct way to carry a gun. 
He was now quite willing, however, to imitate 
Corry and put his weapon down flat on the bottom 
of the sleigh. The gun would be safe there, and, 
besides, he had been watching Vosh Stebbins and 
listening, and he had an idea it was time he should 
show what he knew about oxen. They were plod- 
ding along very well at the moment. 

" Susie," he said, " give me that gad." 

Yosh looked somewhat doubtful as she surren- 
dered the whip. They were going up a little ascent 
and, just beyond, the fences on either side of the 
road seemed to stop. Still further on, all was 
forest, and the road had a crooked look as it went 
in among the trees. 

Porter had stronger arms than his sister, and he 
could do more with an ox-gad. He gave the long, 
hickory "stalk" a swing, and the heavy, far- 
reaching lash at the end of it came around with 
a "swish" and knocked the coon-skin cap from 
the head of Vosh. Then the whip came down, 
stalk, lash and all, along the broad backs of the 

" Gee ! Haw ! G'lang ! Get up ! G'lang, now ! " 

Porter felt that his reputation was at stake. He 
raised the gad again and he shouted vigorously. 
The hinder pair of oxen did not seem to mind 
it much and plodded along as if they had not 
heard any one say a word to them, but their 
younger and more skittish helpers in front shook 
their heads a little uneasily. "Gee! Haw! 
G'lang ! " 

Porter was quite proud of the way the lash came 
down, this time, and the cracker of it caught 
the near ox of the forward team smartly on the left 
ear. It was a complete success, undoubtedly; but, 
to Porter's astonishment, the bewildered yoke of 
oxen in front whirled suddenly to the right. The 
next moment, they were floundering in a snow-drift. 

On the instant, Vosh snatched the gad from 



Porter and sprang out of the sleigh, saying some- 
thing, as lie went, about " not wanting to have 
the girls upset." Corry was dancing a sort of 
double-shuffle and shouting: " Well done, Port! 
That 's the first time 1 ever saw an ox-team ' gee ' 



and 'haw' at the same time. 
Port!" "Pen," said Susie, 
mean ? " 

" Mean ? Don't you know ? 
' gee ' to turn 'em this way, and ' 
that way. They can't turn both 

•' what 

for you, 
does he 


haw ' to turn 
ways at once. 


The double team had set out to do it, quite 
obediently ; but Vosh got matters straightened very 
quickly. Then he kept the whip and did his own 
driving, until the sleigh was pulled out of the 
road, half a mile further, into a sort of open space 
in the forest. There was 
not much depth of snow 
on the ground, and there 
were stumps of trees 
sticking up through it all 
about. Vosh drove right 
on until he halted his 
team by a great pile of 
logs that were already cut 
for hauling. " Are they 
not too big for the fire- 
place ? " asked Susie of 

" Of course they are," 
said Pen ; but Corry ad- 
ded : " We can cut up all 
we want for the stoves 
after we get the logs 
home. And the big ones 
will be cut up for back- 
logs for the fire-place." 

He had been telling 
Porter, on the way, about 
the fun there was in fell- 
ing big trees, and that 
young gentleman had pro- 
posed to cut down a few 
before they set out after 
any rabbits or bears. 
" Just see father swing 
that ax ! " said Pen, 
proudly, as the stalwart 
old farmer walked up to 
a tall hickory and began 
to make the chips fly. 

" Is n't it a fine sight? " 
said Susie. 

Vosh Stebbins had his 
ax out of the sleigh, now, 
determined to show what 
he could do. 

It looked like the easiest 

thing in the world. He 

and the deacon merely 

swung their axes up and 

let them go down exactly 

in the right place, and the glittering edges went 

in. in, with a hollow thud, and at every other stroke 

a great chip would spring away across the snow. 

" It does n't take either of them long to bring a 
tree down," said Corry. "Take that other ax 
there and we '11 try one. They 've all got to come 




down, so it does n't make any difference what tree 
we choose." The girls were contented to stay in 
the sleigh and look on, and the oxen stood as still 
as if they intended never to move again. 

" Susie," exclaimed Pen, "here comes Ponto ! 
Nobody knew where he was when we started." 

There he was now, however, — the great, shaggy, 
house-dog, — coming up the road and giving a suc- 
cession of short, sharp barks, as if protesting against 
being left out of such a picnic party as that. 

" Pen, he 's coming right into the sleigh." 

" No, he is n't. You '11 see. He '11 go after 
Corry. He 's only sniffing to see if the guns are 
here. He knows what they mean." 

" Does he hunt ? " 

" Indeed, he does." 

He seemed, just now, to be stirred to a sort of 
frenzy of delighted barking, but at the end of it he 
sat down on the snow near the sleigh. No dog of 
good common sense would follow a boy with an 
ax, away from the place where the guns were. 

Meantime, Corry had picked out a maple tree, 
of middle size, and had cut a few chips from it. 
It was easy to see that he knew how to handle an 
ax, if he could not bury one as deeply in the 
wood of a tree as could his father or Yosh. He 
also knew enough, it seemed, to get well out of 
the way, when he handed the ax to Porter Hud- 
son, remarking: " Now, Port, cut it right down. 
Maybe it 's a bee tree." 

" Bee tree ? Do you ever find any in winter ? 

" Well, not as a regular thing ; but there are bee 
trees, and the bees must be in them just the same, 
in any kind of weather." 

That was so, no doubt ; but if there had been a 
dozen hives of bees hidden away in the solid wood 
of that vigorous maple tree, they would have been 
safe there until spring, so far as Porter Hudson's 
chopping was concerned. He managed to make 
the edge of the ax hit squarely the first time it 
struck ; but it did no more than go through the 
bark. No scratch like that would get a chip ready. 
Porter colored with vexation, and he gave his next 
stroke rather hastily, but he gave it with all his 
might. The edge of the ax hit several inches from 
the first scratch, and it seemed to take a quick twist 
on its own account, just as it struck. It glanced 
from the tree, and away the ax went into the snow, 
jerking its handle rudely out of Porter's hands. 

" I say. Port, let 's not cut down any more trees. 
Let 's get our guns, and go down into the swamp 
for some' rabbits. There 's Ponto. He '11 stir 'em 
up for us," said Corry. 

Porter was fishing for his ax, with a pretty red 
face, and he replied : " I suppose .we 'd better. I'm 
not used to chopping." 

" Of course not." 

(Tit be 

" We burn coal, in the city." 

" No chopping to do, — I know. Come on." 

All that was very polite, but Corry had less 
trouble, now, in keeping up a feeling of equality 
with his city cousin. 

They had tucked their trousers into their boots 
when they left the house, and now they took their 
guns out of the sleigh, slung their powder-flasks 
and shot-pouches over their shoulders, and marched 
away through the woods. 

The two girls looked after them as if they, also, 
were eager for a rabbit-hunt. As for Ponto, that 
very shaggy and snowy dog was plainly intending 
to run between every two trees, and through each 
and every clump of bushes, as if in a desperate 
state of dread lest he should miss the tracks of some 
game or other. 

"Boys can have more fun in the woods than girls," 
began Susie, when she and Pen were left alone. 

'' No, they can't, Susie. Just watch that tree 
yonder. It '11 come down very soon, and it will 
make a great crash when it falls." 

It was entertainment enough to watch the chop- 
ping and see the chips fly. Susie found herself 
becoming more and more deeply interested, as the 
wide " notches " sank farther and farther into the 
massive trunks of the two trees that her uncle and 
Yosh Stebbins were felling. 

Yosh chopped for dear life, but in spite of all he 
could do, the deacon had his tree down first. 

It was a tall, noble-looking tree. There were 
no branches near the ground, but there was a fine, 
broad crown of them, away up where the sun could 
get at them in summer. It seemed almost a pity 
to destroy a forest king like that, but at last it 
began to totter and lean. 

" Oh, Pen, it 's coming ! " exclaimed Susie. 

" Don't shut your eyes, Susie. Keep them open 
and see it come." 

Susie did try ; but when the tall, majestic 
trunk seemed to throw out its great arms and give 
up the struggle, she could not look any longer, and 
she put her head down. Then she heard a tre- 
mendous, dull, crashing sound, and her eyes came 
open to see a cloud of light snow rising from the 
spot on which the forest king had fallen. 

" Is n't it splendid ? " 

" Yes, Pen, it 's wonderful." 

" Yosh's tree is almost ready. Look ! Look ! " 

Yosh had not been as careful as Deacon Farn- 
ham in directing the fall of his tree, for it went 
down into the arms of a smaller one, crashing and 
breaking through them, and the sharp, snapping 
sound of the crushed branches went far and wide 
through the silence of the snowy forest. 

Pen was quiet for a moment, and Susie was con- 
scious of a sort of awed feeling, and said nothing. 

piitimtcd. ) 







Dick's qoinq on a STR/m- 





A Tale of Adventure in Tierra del Fitcgo. 

By Captain Mayne Reid. 

Chapter V. 


NOT long does Captain Gancy lament the loss 
of his fine vessel and valuable cargo. In the face 
and fear of a far greater loss — his own life and 
the lives of his companions, — there is no time for 
vain regrets. The storm is still in full fury ; the 
winds and the waves are as high as ever ; and 
their boat is threatened with the fate of the bark. 

The bulk of the " Calypso's " crew, with Lyons, 
the chief mate, have taken to the pinnace ; and the 
skipper is in his own gig, with his wife, daughter, 
son, young Chester, and two others — Seagriff, 
the carpenter, and the cook, a negro. In all, only 

seven persons, but enough to bring the gunwale 
of the little craft dangerously near the water's 
edge. The captain himself is in the stern-sheets, 
tiller-lines in hand. Mrs. Gancy and her daugh- 
ter crouch beside him, while the others are at the 
oars — in which occupation Ned and Chester oc- 
casionally pause to bale out, as showers of spray 
keep breaking over the boat, threatening to swamp 

What point shall they steer for? This is a 
question that no one asks, nor thinks of asking 
as yet. Course and direction are as nothing now ; 
all their energies are bent on keeping the boat 
above water. However, they naturally endeavor to 
remain in the company of the pinnace. But those 
in the larger craft, like themselves, are engaged in 



a life-and-death conflict with the sea, and both 
must fight it out in their own way, neither being 
able to give aid to the other. So, despite their 
efforts to keep near each other, the winds and 
waves soon separate them. Anon, they can catch 
glimpses of each other only when buoyed up on the 
crest of a billow. And presently, the night coming 
on, — a night of dungeon darkness, — they see each 
other no more. 

But, dark as it is, there is still visible that which 
they have been long regarding with dread — the 
breakers known as the ' ' Milky Way. " Snow-white 
during the day, these terrible rock-tortured billows 
now gleam like a belt of liquid fire, the breakers 
at every crest seeming to break into veritable 
flames. Well for the castaways that this is the 
case ; else how, in such obscurity, could the dan- 
gerous lee shore be shunned? To keep off that is, 
for the time, the chief care of those in the gig ; and 
all their energies are exerted in holding their craft 
well to windward. 

By good fortune, the approach of night has 
brought about a shifting of the wind, which has 
veered around to the west-northwest, making it pos- 
sible for them to " scud," without nearer approach 
to the dreaded fire-like line. In their cockle-shell 
of a boat, they know that to run before the wind is 
their safest plan, and so they speed on south-east- 
ward. An ocean current setting from the north- 
west also helps them in this course. 

Thus doubly driven, they make rapid progress, 
and before midnight the Milky Way is behind 
them, out of sight. But, though they breathe more 
freely, they are by no means out of danger — alone 
in a frail skiff on the still turbulent ocean, and 
groping in thick darkness, with neither moon nor 
star to guide them. They have no compass ; that 
having been forgotten in their scramble out of the 
sinking ship. But even if they had one, it would 
be of little assistance to them at present, as, for 
the time being, they have enough to do in keeping 
the boat baled out and above water. 

At break of day, matters look a little better. 
The storm has somewhat abated, and there is land 
in sight to leeward, with no visible breakers be- 
tween. Still, they have a heavy swell to contend 
with, and an ugly cross sea. 

But land to a castaway ! His first thought, and 
most anxious desire, is to set foot on it. So in the 
case of our shipwrecked party ; risking all reefs and 
surfs, they at once set the gig's head shoreward. 

Closing in upon the land, they perceive a high 
promontory on the port bow and another on the 
starboard, separated by a wide reach of open 
water ; and, about half-way between these prom- 
ontories and somewhat farther out, lies what 
appears to be an island. Taking it for one, Sea- 
griff counsels putting in there instead of running 
on for the more distant main-land. 

" But why should we put in upon the island?" 
asks the skipper. " Would n't it be better to keep 
on to the main ? " 

"No, Captain. There's a reason agin it; the 
which I '11 make known to you as soon as we get 
safe ashore." 

Captain Gancy is aware that the late " Calypso's" 
carpenter was for a long time a sealer, and in this 
capacity had spent more than one season in the 
sounds and channels of Tierra del Fuego. He 
knows also that the old sailor can be trusted, and 
so, without pressing for further explanation, he 
steers straight for the island. 

When about half a mile from its shore, they 
come upon a bed of kelp,1* growing so close and 
thick as to bar their farther advance. Were they 
still on board the bark, the weed would be given a 
wide berth, as giving evidence of rocks underneath. 
But, in the light-draught gig, they have no fear of 
these; and with theswell still tossingthemabout, are 
even glad to get in among the kelp, and so steady 
themselves awhile. Their anxiety to force a way 
through the tangled mass is heightened by the fact 
that, on the farther side of it, they can descry 
waveless water, seemingly as tranquil as a pond. 
Luckily the weed-bed is not continuous, but tra- 
versed by an irregular sort of break, through which 
it seems practicable to make way. So into this the 
gig is directed, and pulled through with vigorous 
strokes. Five minutes afterward, her keel grates 
upon a beach, against which, despite the tum- 
bling swell outside, there is scarce so much as a 
ripple ! There is no better breakwater than a bed 
of kelp. 

The island proves to be a small one ; less than 
a mile in diameter, rising in the center to a rounded 
summit, three hundred feet above sea-level. It 
is treeless, though in part overgrown with a rank 
vegetation, chiefly tussac grass, f with its grand 
bunches of leaves, six feet in height, surrounded 
by plume-like flower-spikes, almost as much higher. 

Little regard, however, do the castaways pay to 
the isle or its productions. After being so long 

* The fucus giganteus of Solander. The stem of this remarkable sea-weed, though but the thickness of a man's thumb, is often over 
130 yards in length, perhaps the longest of any known plant. It grows on every rock in Fuegian waters, from low-water mark to a 
depth of fifty or sixty fathoms, and among the most violent breakers. Often loose stones are raised up by it, and carried about, when the 
weed gets adrift ; some of these are so large and heavy that they can with difficulty be lifted into a boat. The reader will learn more 
of it further on. 

t Dactylis ars/>itosa. The leaves of this singular grass are often eight feet in length, and an inch broad at the base ; the flower-stalks 
being as long as the leaves. It bears much resemblance to the" pampas grass," now well known as an ornamental shrubbery. 




tossed about on rough seas, in momentary peril 
of their lives, and with scarcely a mouthful of food 
the while, they are now suffering from the pangs 
of hunger. So, as soon as the boat is beached, 
and they have set foot on shore, the services of 
Caesar, the cook, are called into requisition. 

As yet, they scarcely know what provisions they 
have with them, so confusedly were things flung 
into the gig. An examination of their stock 
proved that it is scant indeed ; a barrel of biscuits, 
a ham, some corned beef, a small bag of coffee in 
the berry, a canister of tea, and a loaf of lump 
sugar were all they had brought with them. The 
condition of these articles, too, is most dishearten- 
ing. Much of the biscuit seems a mass of briny 
pulp ; the beef is pickled for the second time (on 
this occasion with sea-water) ; the sugar is more 
than half melted, and the tea spoiled outright, from 
the canister not having been water-tight. The ham 
and coffee have received least damage ; yet both 
will require a cleansing operation to make them 
fit for food. 

Fortunately, some culinary utensils arc found in 
the boat ; the most useful of them being a frying- 
pan, kettle, and coffee-pot. 

And now for a fire ! Ah, the fire ! 

Up to this moment no one has thought of a fire ; 
but now it suddenly presents itself to them as a 
difficulty they see no means of overcoming. The 
mere work of kindling it were an easy enough 
task, the late occupant of the "Calypso's" caboose 
being provided with flint, steel, and tinder. So, 
too, is Seagriff, who, an inveterate smoker, is 
never without igniting apparatus, carried in a 
pocket of his pilot-coat. But where are they to 
find firewood? There is none on the islet — not a 
stick, — as no trees grow there; while the tussac 
and other plants are soaking wet ; the very ground 
being a sodden, spongy peat. 

Upon making this discovery, Captain Gancy 
turns to Seagriff and remarks, with some vex- 
ation : 

"Chips,* I think, 'twould have been better if 
we 'd kept on to the main. There 's timber enough 
there, on either side," he adds, after a look through 
his binocular " The hills appear to be thickly 
wooded half-way up." 

His words are manifestly intended as a reflection 
■upon the judgment of the quondam seal-hunter, 
•who rejoins shortly : 

"It would have been a deal worse, sir. Aye, 
worse nor if we should have to eat our vittels raw." 

"1 don't comprehend you," says the skipper; 
" you spoke of a reason for our not making the 
main-land. What is it?" 

" Wal, Captain, there is a reason, as 1 said, 
an' a good one. I did n't like to tell you, wi' the 

* AH ship-carpenters 

others listenin'." He nods toward the rest of the 
party, who are at some distance, and then con- 
tinues : " 'Specially the women folks ; as 't aint a 
thing they ought to be told about." 

" Do you fear some danger ? " queries the Skip- 
per, in a tone of apprehension. 

"Jest that; an' bad kind o' danger. As fur's 
I kin see, we 've drifted outer a part of the Fewee- 
gin Coast, where the Ailikoleeps live ; the which 
air the worst and cruelest o' savages — some of 'em 
rank cannyballs ! It is n't but five or six years 
since they murdered sev'ral men of a sealin' vessel 
that was wrecked somewhere about here. For 
killin' 'em, mebbe they might have had reason, 
seein' as there was blame on both sides, an' some 
whites have behaved no better than the savages. 
But jest fur that, we, as are innocent, may hev to 
pay fur the misdeeds o' the guilty ! Now, Captain, 
you perceive the wharfor o' my not wantin' you 
to land over yonder. Ef we went now, like as 
not we 'd have a crowd o' the ugly critters yellin' 
around us." 

"But, if that 's so," cpieried the Captain, " will 
we be any safer here ?" 

" Yes ! we 're safe enough here — 's long as the 
wind 's blowin' as 't is now, an' I guess it allers docs 
blow that way, round this speck of an island. It 
must be all o' five mile to that land either side ; an' 
in their rickety canoes the Feweegins never venture 
fur out in anythin' o' a rough sea. I calculate, 
Captain, we need n't trouble ourselves much about 
'em — leastways, not jest yet." 

"Aye, — but afterward!" murmurs Captain 
Gancy, in a desponding tone, as his eyes turn 
upon those by the boat. 

"Wal, sir," says the old sealer, encouragingly, 
" arterward '11 have to take care o' itself. An' now 
I guess I 'd better determine ef thar aint some 
way of helpin' Caesar to a spark o' -fire. Don't 
look like it, but looks are sometimes deceivin'." 

And, so saying, he strolls off among the bunches 
of tussac grass and is soon out of sight. 

But it is not long before he is again making 
himself heard, by an exclamation, telling of some 
discovery — a joyful one, as evinced by the tone of 
his voice. The two youths hasten to his side and 
find him bending over a small heath-like bush, 
from which he has torn a handful of branches. 

" What is it. Chips?" ask both in a breath. 

"The gum-plant, sure," he replies. 

"Well, what then? What 's the good of it ? " 
they further interrogate.. " You don't suppose that 
green thing will burn — wet as a fish, too ? " 

"That's jest what I do suppose," replied the 
old sailor, deliberately. " You young ones wait, an' 
you '11 see. Mebbe you '11 lend a hand, an' help 
me to gather some of it. We '11 want armfuls ; an' 

are called "Chips." 

18S4. | 



there 's plenty o' the welcome plants growin' all 
about, you see." 

They do see, and at once begin tearing at them, 
breaking off the branches of some and plucking up 
others by the roots, till Seagriff cries, "Enough!" 
Then, with arms full, they return to the beach in 
high spirits and with joyful faces. 

bird's nest, click! goes his flint and steel, — a 
piece of "punk "is ignited and slipped into the 
heart of the ball. This, held on high, and kept 
whirling around his head, is soon ablaze, when it 
is thrust in among the gathered heap of green 
plants. Green and wet as these are, they at once 
catch fire and flame up like kindling-wood. 

All are astonished, and pleased as well ; 
and not the least delighted is Caesar, who 
dances over the ground in high glee as he 
prepares to resume his vocation. 

Chapter VI. 


Through Caesar's skillful manipulations 
the sea-water is extracted from the ham : 
and the coffee, which is in the berry and un- 
roasted, after a course of judicious washing 
and scorching, is also rendered fit for use. 
The biscuits also turn out better than was 
anticipated. So their breakfast is not so 
bad, after all, — indeed, to such appetites 
as theirs, it seems a vetitable feast. 

While they are enjoying it, Seagriff tells 
them something more about the plant which 
has proved of such service to them. They 
learn from him that it grows in the Falk- 
land Islands, as well as in Tierra del Fuego. 
and is known as the " gum-plant." * be- 
cause of a viscous substance it exudes in 
large quantities; this sap is called "bal- 
sam," and is used by the natives of the 
countries where it is found as a poultice 
for wounds. But its most important prop- 
erty, in their eyes, is the ease with which 
it can be set on fire, even when green and 
growing, as above described, — a matter of 
no slight consequence in regions where rain 
falls five days out of every six. In the 
Falkland Islands, where there are no trees, 
the natives often roast their beef over a fire 
of bones, — the very bones of the animal 
from which, but the moment before, the 
meat itself was stripped, — .and they use the 
gum-plant to kindle this fire. 

Just as Seagriff finishes his interesting 
dissertation, his listeners have their atten- 
tion called to a spectacle quite new to them 
and somewhat comical. Near the spot 
where they have landed, a naked sand-bar 
projects into the water, and along this a 
Arrived there, Seagriff selects some of the finest number of odd-looking creatures are seen, side by 
twigs, which he rubs between his hands till they side. There are quite two hundred of them, all 
are reduced to a fine fiber and nearly dry. Roll- facing the same way, mute images of propriety 
ing these into a rounded shape, resembling a and good deportment, reminding one of a row of 

VOL. XI. — 17. * Hydrocelice gummifcra. 





little charity children, all in white bibs and tuckers, 
ranged in a rank for inspection. 

But very different is the behavior of the birds 
— for birds they are. One or another, every now 
and then, raises its head aloft and so holds it, 
while giving utterance to a series of cries, as hoarse 
and long-drawn as the braying of an ass, to which 
sound it bears a ludicrous resemblance. 

"Jack-ass penguins,"* Seagriff pronounces them, 
without waiting to be questioned; " yonder 're more 
of 'em," he explains, " out among the kelp, divin' 
after shell-fish, the which are their proper food." 

The others, looking off toward the kelp, then see 
more of the birds. They had noticed them before, 
but supposed them to be fish leaping out of the 
water; for the penguin, on coming up after a 
dive, goes down again with so quick a plunge 
that an observer, even at short distance, may easily 
mistake it for a fish. Turning to those on the 
shore, it is now seen that numbers of them are con- 
stantly passing in among the tussac grass and out 
again, their mode of progression being also very 
odd. Instead of a walk or hop, as with other birds, 
it is a sort of rapid rush, in which the rudimentary 
wings of the birds are used as fore-legs, so that, 
from even a slight distance, they might easily be 
mistaken for quadrupeds. 

" It is likely they have their nests yonder," ob- 
serves Mrs. Gancy, pointing to where the penguins 
keep going in and out of the tussac. 

The remark makes a vivid impression on her 
son and the young Englishman, neither of whom is 
so old as to have quite outgrown a boyish propen- 
sity for nest-robbing. 

" Sure to have, ma'am," affirms Seagriff, respect- 
fully raising his hand to his forelock ; " an' a pity 
we did n't think of it sooner. We might 'a' hed 
fresh eggs for breakfast." 

"Why can't we have them for dinner, then?" 
demands the second mate, the third adding: 

" Yes ; why not ? " 

" Sartin we kin, young masters. I knows of no 
reason agin it," answers the old sealer. 

" Then let 's go egg-gathering! " exclaimed Ned, 

The proposal is accepted by Seagriff, who is 
about to set out with the two youths, when, look- 
ing inquiringly around, he says : 

" As thar aint anything in the shape of a stick 
about, we had best take the boat-hook an' a couple 
of oars." 

" What for ? " ask the others, in some surprise. 

"You '11 larn, by an' by," answers the old salt, 
who, like most of his kind, is somewhat given to 

In accordance with this suggestion, each of the 
boys arms himself with an oar, leaving Seagriff the 

They enter the tussac ; and. after tramping 
through it a hundred yards or so, they come upon a 
" penguinnery," sure enough. It is a grand one, 
extending over acres, with hundreds of nests — if 
a slight depression in the naked surface of the 
ground deserves the name of nest. But no eggs 
are in any of them, fresh, or otherwise ; instead, 
in each sits one young, half-fledged bird, and one 
only, as this kind of penguin lays and hatches but 
a single egg. Many of the nests have old birds 
standing beside them, each occupied in feeding its 
solitary chick, duckling, gosling, or whatever the 
penguin offspring may be properly called. This 
being of itself a curious spectacle, the disappointed 
egg-hunters stop awhile to witness it; for they are 
still outside the bounds of the " penguinnery," and 
the birds have as yet taken no notice of them. By 
each nest is a little mound, on which the mother 
stands perched, from time to time projecting her 
head outward and upward, at the same time giving 
forth a queer chattering noise, half-quack, half-bray, 
with the air of a stump-orator haranguing an open- 
air audience. Meanwhile, the youngster stands 
patiently waiting below, evidently with a fore- 
knowledge of what is to come. Then, after a few 
seconds of the quacking and braying, the mother- 
bird suddenly ducks her head, with the mandibles 
of her beak wide agape, between which the fledge- 
ling thrusts its head, almost out of sight, and so 
keeps it for more than a minute. Finally with- 
drawing it, up again 
goes the head of the 
mother, with neck 
craned out, and os- 
cillating from side 
to side in a second 
spell of speech-mak- 
ing. These curious 
actions are repeat- 
ed several times, 
the entire perform- 
ance lasting for a 
period of nearly a "chips." i 

quarter of an hour. 

When it ends, possibly from the food-supply having 
become exhausted, the mother-bird leaves the little 
glutton to itself and scuttles off seaward, to replen- 
ish her throat-larder with a fresh stock of molluscs. 

Although, during their long four years' cruise, 
Edward Gancy and Henry Chester have seen many 
a strange sight, they think the one now before 
their eyes as strange as any, and unique in its 

* Aptetlodytes Patcichonka. This singular bird has been christened "Jack-ass penguin " by sailors, on account of its curious note, 
which bears an odd resemblance to the bray of an ass. " King penguin " is another of its names, from its superior size : as it is the largest of 
the auk. or penguin family. 

i88 4 .: 


2 5' 

quaint comicality. They would have continued 
their observations much longer but for Seagriff, to 
whom the sight is neither strange nor new. It has 
no interest for him, save economically ; and in this 
sense he proceeds to utilize it, saying, after an in- 
terrogative glance, sent all over the breeding 
ground : 

" Sartin, there aint a single egg in any o' the 
nests. It 's too late in the season for them now, 
an' I might 'a' known it. Wal, we wont go back 
empty-handed, anyhow. The young penguins 
aint sech bad eatin'. though the old uns taste 
some'at fishy, b'sides bein' tough as tan leather. 
So, let 's heave ahead, an' grab a few of the gos- 
lin's. But look out, or you '11 get your legs 
nipped ! " 

All three advance upon the " penguinnery," the 
two youths still skeptical as to there being any dan- 
ger — in fact rather under the belief that the old salt 
is endeavoring to impose on their credulity. But 
they are soon undeceived. Scarcely have they set 
foot within the breeding precinct, when fully half 
a score of old penguins rush fiercely at each of the 
intruders, with necks outstretched, mouths open, 
and mandibles snapping together with a clatter 
like that of castanets. 

Then follows a laying about with oars and boat- 
hook, accompanied by shouts on the side of the at- 
tacking party, and hoarse, guttural screams on 
that of the attacked. The racket is kept up till 
the latter are at length beaten off, though but few 
of them are slain outright ; for the penguin, with 
its thick skull and dense coat of feathers, takes as 
much killing as a cat. 

Even the young birds make resistance against 
being captured, croaking and hissing like so many 
little ganders, and biting sharply. But all this does 
not prevent our determined party from finally se- 
curing some ten or twelve of the featherless creat- 
ures, and subsequently carrying them to the friends 
at the shore, where they are delivered into the eager 
hands of Caesar. 

Chapter VII. 


A PAIR of penguin "squabs " makes an ample 
dinner for the entire party, nor is it without the ac- 
companiment of vegetables ; these being supplied 
by the tussac-grass, the stalks of which contain an 
edible substance, in taste somewhat resembling a 
hazel-nut, while the young shoots boiled are al- 
most equal to asparagus. * 

While seated at their midday meal, they have 
before their eyes a moving world of Nature, surh 
as may be found only in her wildest solitudes. All 
around the kelp-bed, porpoises are plowing the 
water, now and then bounding up out of it ; while 
seals and sea-otters show their human-like heads, 
swimming among the weeds. Birds hover above, 
in such numbers as to darken the air ; at intervals, 
individual birds dart down and go under witli a 
plunge that sends the spray aloft in showers, white 
as a snow-drift. Others do their fishing seated 
on the water; for there are many different kinds of 
water- fowl here represented: — gulls, shags, cor- 
morants, gannets, noddies, and petrels, with sev- 
eral species of Anativa?, among them the beautiful 
black-necked swan. Nor are they all sea-birds, 
or exclusively inhabitants of the water. Some of 
those wheeling in the air above are eagles, hawks, 
and vultures — the last, the Chilian jo/a.] Even 
the gigantic condor often extends its flight to the 
Land of Fire, whose mountains are but a continu- 
ation of the great Andean chain. 

The ways and movements of this teeming or- 
nithological world are so strange and varied that 
our castaways, despite all anxiety about their own 
future, can not help being interested in observ- 
ing them. They see a bird of one kind diving 
and bringing to the surface a fish, which another, 
of a different species, snatches from it and bears 
aloft ; in its turn, to be attacked by a third equal- 
ly rapacious winged hunter, that, swooping at 
the robber, makes him forsake his ill-gotten prey ; 
while the prey itself, reluctantly dropped, is dex- 
terously recaught in its whirling descent, long ere 
it reaches its own element — the whole incident 
forming a very chain of tyranny and destruction ! 
And yet a chain of but few links, compared with 
that to be found in and under the water, among the 
leaves and stalks of the kelp itself. There, the 
destroyers and the destroyed are legion ; not only 
in numbers, but in kind. A vast conglomeration 
of animated beings, always at war with one an- 
other, — a world of itself, densely populated, and 
of so many varied organisms that, for a due deline- 
ation of it, I must again borrow from the inimitable 
pen of Darwin. Thus he describes it : — 

" The number of living creatures of all orders, whose existence 
entirely depends on the kelp, is wonderful. A great volume might 
be written describing the inhabitants of one of these beds of sea- 
weed. Almost all the leaves, excepting those that float on the sur- 
face, are so thickly encrusted with corallines as to be of a white 
color. We find exquisitely delicate structures, some inhabited by 
simple, hydra-like polyps; others by more organized kinds. On the 
leaves, also, various shells, uncovered molluscs, and bivalves, are 

* It is the soft, crisp, inner part of the stem, just above ihc root, that is chiefly eaten. Horses and cattle are very' fond of the tussac- 
grass, and in the Falkland Islands feed upon it. It is said, however, that there it is threatened with extirpation, on account of these 
animals browsing it too closely. It has been introduced with success into the Hebrides and Orkney Islands, where the conditions of its 
existence are favorable — a peatv soil, exposed to winds loaded with sea-spray. 

t Catltartcs jota. Closely allied to the " turkey-buzzard " of the United States. 




attached. Innumerable Crustacea frequent every part of the plant. 
On shaking the great, entangled roots, a pile of small hsh-shells, cut- 
tle-fish, crabs of all orders, sea-eggs, star-fish, sea-cucumbers, and 
crawling sea-centipedes of a multitude of forms, all tall out to- 
gether. Often as I recurred to the kelp, I never failed to dis- 
cover animals of new and curious structures. * * ' 
I can only compare these great aquatic forests of the Southern Hemi- 
sphere with the terrestrial ones of the intertropical regions. Yet, if 
in any country a forest were destroyed, I do not believe so many 
species of animals would perish as would here from the destruction 
of the kelp. Amidst the leaves of this plant numerous species of fish 
live, which nowhere else could find food or shelter ; with their de- 
struction, the many cormorants and other fishing birds, the otters, 
seals, and porpoises, would perish also : and lastly, the Fuegian 
savage, the miserable lord of this miserable land, would redouble his 
cannibal feast, decrease in numbers, and perhaps cease to exist." 

While still watching the birds at their game of 
grab, the spectators observe that the kelp-bed has 
become darker in certain places, as though from 
the weeds being piled up in layers. 

" It 's lowering to ebb tide," remarks Captain 
Gancy, in reply to an interrogation from his wife, 
" and the rocks are a-wash. They '11 soon be 
above water, I take it." 

" Jest so, Captain," assents Seagriff ; "but 'taint 
the weeds that 's makin' those black spots. They 're 
movin', — don't you see ? " 

The skipper now observes, as do all the others, 
a number of odd-looking animals, large-headed, 
and with long, slender bodies, to all appearance 
covered with a coat of dark-brown wool, crawling 
and floundering about among the kelp, in con- 
stantly increasing numbers. Each new ledge of 
reef, as it rises to the surface, becomes crowded 
with them, while some disport themselves in the 
pools between. 

" Fur-seals* they are," pronounces Seagriff, his 
eyes fixed upon them as eagerly as were those of 
Tantalus on the forbidden water ; " an' every skin 
of 'em worth a mint o' money. Bad luck ! " he 
continues, in a tone of spiteful vexation. " A mine 
o' wealth, an' no chance to work it ! Ef we only 
had the ship by us now, we could put a good 
thousan' dollars' worth o' thar pelts into it. Jest 
see how they swarm out yonder ! An' tame as pet 
tabby cats !■ There 's enough of 'em to supply 
seal-skin jackets fur nigh all the women o' New 
York ! " 

No one makes rejoinder to the old sealer's re- 
gretful rhapsody. The situation is too grave for 
them to be thinking of gain by the capture of 
fur-seals, even though it should prove "a mine of 
wealth," as Seagriff called it. Of what value is 
wealth to them while their very lives are in jeop- 
ardy ? They were rejoiced when they first set foot 
on land; but time is passing; they have in part 

* Otaria Falklandica. There are several distinct species of "otary," or "fur-seal ' 
Fuego being different from the fur-seals of northern latitudes. 

C To be continued. ) 

recovered from their fatigue, and the dark, doubt- 
ful future is once more uppermost in their minds. 
They can not stay forever on the isle — indeed, they 
may not be able to remain many days on it, owing 
to the exhaustion of their limited stock of pro- 
visions, if for no other reason. Even could they 
subsist on penguin's flesh and tussac-stalks, the 
young birds, already well feathered, will ere long 
disappear, while the tender shoots of the grass, 
growing tougher as it ripens, will in time be 

No ; they can not abide there, and must go else- 
where. But whither ? That is the all-absorbing 
question. Ever since they landed, the sky has been 
overcast, and the distant main-land is barely visible 
through a misty vapor spread over the sea between. 
All the better for that, Seagriff has been thinking 
hitherto, with the Fuegians in his mind. 

" It '11 hinder 'em seein' the smoke of our fire," 
he said ; " the which mout draw 'em on us." 

But he has now less fear of this, seeing that 
which tells him that the isle is never visited by the 

" They hain't been on it fur years, anyhow," he 
says, re-assuring the captain, who has again taken 
him aside to talk over the matter. " I 'm sartin 
they haint. " 

"What makes you certain?" questions the 

" Them 'ere — both of 'em," nodding first toward 
the fur-seals and then toward the penguins. "If 
the Feweegins dar' fetch thar craft so fur out sea- 
ward, neither o' them ud be so plentiful nor yit so 
tame. Both sort o' critters air jest what they sets 
most store by — yieidin' 'em not only thar vittels, 
but sech scant kiver as they 're 'customed to w'ar. 
No, Capting — thesavagers haint been out hyar, an' 
aint a-goin'to be. An' I weesh, now," he continues, 
glancing up to the sky, " I weesh 't wud brighten 
a bit. Wi' thet fog hidin' the hills over yonder, 
't aint possybul to gie a guess az to whar we air. 
Ef it ud lift, I mout be able to make out some o' 
the land-marks. Let 's hope we may hev a cl'ar 
sky the morrer, an' a glimp' o' the sun to boot." 

"Aye, let us hope that," rejoins the skipper, 
"and pray for it, as we shall." 

The promise is made in all seriousness, Captain 
Gancy being a religious man. So, on retiring to 
rest on their shake-down couches of tussac-grass, 
he summons the little party around him and offers 
up a prayer for their deliverance from their present 
danger ; no doubt, the first Christian devotion ever 
heard ascending over that lone desert isle. 

those of the Falkland Islands and Tierra del 

iS84- ) 




Words by Dr. J. G. HOLLAND. 



Music by HUBERT P. MAIN'. 

p=« — F 

Y~4r- X T- 


1. There's a song 

2. There's a tu 

3. In the light 

4. We re - joice 







air! There's a star in 

joy O'er the won-der 

star Lie the a - ges 

light And we ech - o 


sky! There's a moth- er's deep prayer And a 

birth, For the Vir - gin's sweet boy Is the 

pearled ; And that song Horn a - far Has swept 

song That comes down through the night From the 







ba - by's low cry ! And the star rains its fire while the 

Lord of the earth; Ay! the star rains its fire, and the 

o - ver the world; Ev-ery hearth is a - flame, and the 

heav - en - ly throng ; Ay ! we shout to the love - ly e 


Beau - ti - ful 
Beau - ti - ful 
Beau - ti - ful 
van - gel they 







Copyright, 1883, by Hubert P. Main 






Baby, her head 
on the pillow 


Watches the pretty 
night-light burning. 
Her little eyes sleepily wink and 

But never a thought does baby- 
think ; 
So over the counterpane one last peep, 

The nisrht-light 's shown her the way to sleep ! 

i88 4 .J 




By Royal and Barr Hill. 

In each number of St. Nicholas for this year, our 
young readers will find that portion of an almanac, 
specially prepared for their use, which belongs to the 
month for which it is issued. Owing to the very extended 
circulation of St. Nicholas, it is found impossible to 
give columns for the time of the rising and setting of the 
sun and moon, the length of the day, etc., etc. These 
should be looked for in the local almanacs, which are 
now calculated for nearly every large city of the United 

The column after the days of the month and week gives 
the age of the moon ; that is, the number of days since 
new moon. The next column gives the moon's place in 
the heavens at the hour of half-past eight every evening, 
whether it is visible at that hour or not. Almanacs 
usually refer the moon's place to the sign in which it 
is said to be ; but as it is the object of this almanac to 
teach the young readers of St. Nicholas something 
about the principal stars and constellations, advantage is 
taken of the moon's daily change of place to make use 
of it as an index, like the hand of a clock, to show 
what constellation it is situated in as nearly as can be 
given without explanation ; and, by watching the motion 
of the moon throughout the year, and comparing it with 
this almanac, a very fair idea can be gained of the position 
of the constellations of the Zodiac. For two days on 
each side of new moon, the moon's place is not given, as 
the stars near it are also too near the sun to be seen. 

The next column gives the time near 12 o'clock every 
day, when the shadows of upright objects point exactly- 
north. If any of our readers have a noon-mark, they can 
regulate their time-pieces very closely, as, at the moment 
the shadow is on the noon-mark, the hands of a clock or 
watch should show the time here given. 

In the next column are noted such occurrences as are 
interesting to those who watch the skies, the principal 
events being the dates when the moon and principal 
planets pass each other in their wanderings over the sky ; 
for, though the stars are fixed, the planets move among 
them in a very curious way, — forward, backward, stop- 
ping, starting up and down, wandering about, so that the 
ancients called them plane tes, or "wanderers." 

One of the special features of our almanac will be 
found under the head of " Evening Skies for Young 
Astronomers," and we hope many of our young readers 
will avail themselves of this opportunity to learn the 
places of, and find for themselves, the principal con- 
stellations and brightest stars that adorn the skies. 

On account of the motion of the earth around the sun, 
the heavens never present quite the same appearance at 
the same iiour on two successive evenings. It varies by 
about four minutes each day, and thus, during the course 
of the year, the whole circuit of the heavens is presented 
to our gaze ; that part which now is hidden in the glare 
of the sunlight will be visible in the south at midnight 
on the first of July, while the sun will then be among the 
stars which we now see at midnight on the meridian. 

In each of the short articles describing the evening 
skies, the reader is supposed to be out-of-doors, or at 
some window having a southern view, and to have the 
exact direction of the south from the chosen position 
indicated by some conspicuous mark, as a steeple, chim- 
ney, cupola or, best of all, a pole set up in the required 
direction. A lantern placed upon the ground also forms 
a very good mark. By carefully noticing the direction 
of the shadows of upright objects, as cast by the sun at 
the time given in the noon-mark column, the exact 
direction of the south from the place of observation can 
be ascertained. 

The time for which the descriptions of the evening 
skies are written is half-past eight on the evening of the 
15th of each month. This date has been chosen because 
throughout the year the moon will never be above the 
horizon on the 15th day of the month at that hour of the 
evening. Many of the most interesting objects in the 
heavens can not be observed when the moon is above the 
horizon, especially if it be near the full. The aspect of 
the heavens will not vary much for several evenings be- 
fore and after the 15th of the month. On the evenings 
immediately preceding the 15th, the stars and planets 
will be a little east of the positions described, and for a 
few evenings following the 15th a little west of them. 

It is only possible, in the limits of the short space 
given each month for that purpose, to point out the 
most conspicuous of the objects in view. The four 
planets, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn, will 
always be pointed out when visible ; the other planets 
being too difficult of observation, no mention will be 
made of them. Twenty-eight of the constellations will 
be pointed out during the year, nine of which belong to 
the Zodiac, which is the name given to that path among 
the stars which is pursued by the sun, moon, and planets 
in their circuit around the heavens. Among these twenty- 
eight constellations will be mentioned twenty-four bright 
stars, besides other stars not so bright, and minor groups 
of stars, in all about forty conspicuous and interesting 
objects, the names of which will be given, and their 
positions pointed out in such a way that they can be 
easily recognized. 

In order that everything in our almanac may be per- 
fectly intelligible to our readers, the marks and signs 
which are commonly used in all other almanacs are 
omitted in this one, except that the sign C is used for 
the moon in the calendar. By a little observation, our 
young readers may easily learn the names and positions 
of a number of the most interesting objects in the starry 
skies, and be prepared to observe the heavens more 
minutely, if they have a taste in that direction. 

It is very seldom that any year begins with so fine an 
exhibition in the winter skies, as, independenllv of the 
advantageous view of, the fixed stars which belongs to 
every month of January, three of the planets are near 
their brightest phase, and are also situated in the richest 
part of the sky. 







Through Aqnarins ^C3^ .' '' .- / -iPjk, -yb& 

drives the Sun, 6'^^^i'- ;J \5t;'*~-ZiSi 

anil the water "-f c-ij??" v /" »^ 

spills, Jgf 

mim\ it chills. 







Sun on 

Holidays and Incidents. 





H. M. 

New Year's day. 






General Wolfe born, 1727. 























(1 close to Saturn. 






(i near star Aldebaran. 

















(12th) « near Jupiter. 
(13th) G passes over star 
1st Sunday after E. 5 *out 

£7 P.M. 

(T near Mars. 






(( near star Regulus. 






Gibbon, historian, d. 1794. 








Eenj. Franklin bom, 1708. 
Daniel Webster, b. 1782. 
(1 near Spica. 
2d Sunday after E. 






Francis Bacon born, 1561 
















Robert Burns born, 1759. 





Dr. Jenner died, 1823. 





3d Sunday after E. 













Ci near Venus after sunset. 






Een. Jonson born, 1574. 

Sports for the Month. 

Sneezy, breezy, very freezy, in comes January, wheezy. 
Boys and girls, with Hying feet, racing to see which can beat, 
O'er the ice, which cracks so loud underneath the skating crowd* 

Evening Skies for Young Astronomers. 

January. 15, 8.30 p. m. — The moon does not rise till about 
this time, and will not interfere with our view of the most 
beautiful part of the starry heavens that can be seen during 
the year.* 

Venus is not above the horizon. Mars is in the south-east, 
about two hours high, and may be recognized by its red color 
and steady light. Jupiter is higher up, in the south-east, and 
is by far the most conspicuous and beautiful object in the 
heavens. Saturn, though not near so bright as Jupiter, 
shines brightly and steadily exactly in the south. Saturn is 
situated half way between the Pleiades, or Seven Stars, and 
the bright, red star, Aldebaran, which are the principal marks 
in the constellation of Taurus, or The Bull, one of the 
constellations of the Zodiac. The two bright stars near Jupi- 
ter, but a little higher up, are the twin stars, Castor (the 
upper one) and Pollux {the lower one) ; thev are the principal 
stars of the constellation Gemini, or . The Twins, also one of 
the constellations of the Zodiac. If you imagine a line drawn 
from Satukn through Aldebaran, it will stride the star Betel- 
guese, the brightest star in Orion, which is the finest 
of all the constellations. Another star in Orion, nearly 
as bright, but lower down, is Rigel ; and between Betelguese 
and Rigel is a row of three bright stars, called The Sword 
Belt of Orion. A line drawn through the Sword Belt toward 
the south-east will strike Sirius, the brightest fixed star in 
the heavens. It is in the constellation of Ca?iis Major, the 
Great Dog. Between Jupitfr and Sirius is the fine star 
Procyon, in the constellation Cam's Minor, the Litil- Dog. 
Nearly overhead is the bright star Capella, in the constellation 
Auriga, or the Charioteer. 

Let us notice the path that the Sun, in his yearlv course 
around the heavens, travels among the stars now in view. On 
the 24th of May he will almost enver the sr>nt where vou now 
see Saturn, and on the 22d of July he will be exactly in the 
place where you now see Jupiter. 


\A FabU with many Mo?-als.\ 

" How big a brood shall you have this year, madam ? " said the Fox to the Hen, one cold winter even- 
ing in the barn-yard. 

" What 's that to you ? " said the Hen to the Fox. 

" Supper ! " replied the Fox, promptly. 

" Well, I don't know," said the Hen, in reply ; " I may have ten ; but I never count my chickens before 
they are hatched." 

" Quite right," said the Fox, " neither do I ; and, as a hen in the present is worth ten chickens in the 
future, I will eat you now." So saying, he carried her off. 

The next morning the farmer, seeing the tracks of the fox in the snow, took his gun and went out and 
shot him. "Alas ! " said the Fox, " I should have waited for the ten chickens; there is no snow in 
summer time." 

"The names of planets are printed in capitals; those of constellations in Italics. 


Foi^ Boys and Gii^ls. 


"Well! " said January, walking in one bright winter morning, with the snow clinging to his hair and 
beard, " here I am once more, Mother ; how have you got along without me all these eleven months ? " 

" Oh, very well, indeed," said sweet Mother Nature, cheerily. " I 've had plenty of your brothers and 
sisters ; but turn and turn about, it is your turn now, and I am very glad to see you. You know it is my 
motto to welcome the coming and speed the parting guest; so walk in, walk in, January, and sit right 
down on that lump of ice. I do hope you will give me plentv of snow. December was very stingy, in 
spite of all his promises, and my poor roots and plants are freezing down in their earthy bed. Do be 
good now, January, and spread a good thick coverlid over them." 

"All right," said January, " I 'II go and blow up some clouds this minute." 


The old Earth lying bare and cold, 

Beneath the winter sky, 
Beheld the storm-king marshal forth 
His battle force on high. 
"Ah ! soon," she said, " beneath the snow 
Full warmly I shall lie." 

The wind unfurled his banners 

And rushed into the fray. 
The round moon hid her jolly face 

Within a cloud of gray, 
And not one single star peeped out, 

To drive the gloom away. 

The snow, encamped behind a cloud, 
Sent flying, here and there. 

Its white-winged heralds to proclaim 
Its presence in the air: 

Until, at last, the fairv host 
Burst from its cloudy lair. 

The snow-flakes rushing downward. 

Each in a whirling dance, 
Befnre the winds are driven 

Like armies by the lance; 
But still, upon the waiting Earth 

The shining hosts advance. 

The wild wind, shrieking as he goes, 

Flies fiercely to and fro, 
And strives, with all his mighty force, 

To sweep awav the snow ; 
But bravely still the soft flakes fall 

Upon the Earth below. 

All white and swift it settles down. 
Though Bnreas howl and storm. 

Till soft as Summer's green the robe 
It folds about her form: 

No drapery of leaf and flower 
Could make the Earth so warm. 

It charges with no battle-cry : 
But pure, and soft, and still. 

It falls upon the waiting Earth, 
Its promise to fulfill: 

And foils the angry, shrieking wind 
By force of gentle will. 

The fie has furled his banners. 
And hastened from the fray ; 

The round moon peeps with jolly face 
From out the cloud of gray ; 

And all the stars come twinkling out 
To see who gained the day. 

There all the earth lay shining. 
In garments pure and white: 

The snow fulfilled its mission. 
And, conquering in the fight, 

Had warmed the old Earth to the heart, 
Beneath its mantle white. 

2 5 8 




A HAPPY Christmas to you, one and all, dear 
friends, and a right wholesome New Year ! I 'd 
like to give you some good advice on this occasion, 
but the fact is I already have given you so much — 
Christmas after Christmas, New Year after New 
Year — that you surely must be fully supplied by 
this time. 

Let us therefore all join hands, — first calling in as 
many new friends and followers as possible, so as to 
make the circle doubly large, — and then resolve 
to behave ourselves better than usual in future. 

We really have not done this up to the present 
date, my beloved, but it is never too late to try. 

Here 's for a fresh start. 


SHOULD you like to read this letter just received 
from a little friend in Kansas ? 

Paradise Ranxh, 1883. 

Deak Jack-in-the-Pulpit: I am a little girl thirteen years old. 
I live on a sheep ranch in Central Kansas, and when I see the mail 
carrier, with his funny home-made stage, coming down the road on 
"St. Nicholas day," as we call it, I know what is just the very 
best thing he has in that old stage: it 's dear old St. Nick, with 
his splendid stories, and beautiful pictures that make the stories real. 

Our family once lived in Massachusetts, so I know a little about 
coasting in the New England States ; but did any one ever hear of 
coasting on bare ground ? 

I used to read in " Mother Goose" about " five children sliding on 
dry ground," and since I came here, where the ground is bare a good 
part of the winter, I find that such a thing is possible. We who 
came from a coasting country take our sleds out to an incline cov- 
ered with buffalo grass, and by getting a good start we can ride a 
long way without stopping. 

There used to be a great many buffaloes in this place. Papa says 
that he has heard settlers say that only ten years ago, in 1873, fif- 
teen hundred buffaloes were killed on this range within the short 
space of two weeks. This prairie is covered with countless old 
buffalo wallows, which show what vast numbers of buffaloes must 
once have roved over it. Now wc can find nothing but their bleached 
bones and, once in a great while, a head with the horns complete. 
But wc still have plenty of buffalo grass, and this is what they used 
to feed on. 1 1 is short and curly, and does n't have to be cut to dry 
as other grass does, and it is used here as food for all kinds of stock. 
After walking a little while upon this grass, your shoes become so slip- 
pery that you can hardly stand up when running or walking fast, 
and this is what makes our slopes so capital for coasting. 

We have some very dear pets among the sheep. Once, while the 
herder was eating his dinner on the range, one, named "Jim Sheep," 
and a pet, of course, coolly pulled the cork out of the herder's sirup 
bottle and ate it up — the cork, I mean. 

Yours, with love, B. H. S. 


Dear Jack : Pray allow me to tell your "chicks " this true story: 
Certainly not less than twenty years ago, I gathered on the 
Cohasset beach a quantity of the common little white shells that are 
abundant, I suppose, on every shore. When I came home, I put 
them away in an old vase, and finally in an attic closet. There 
they were forgotten for many years ; but last November, having 
gathered some beautiful mosses and ferns, I arranged a miniature 
fernery, with a soup-plate for my " wardian case" and a gigantic 
goblet for a cover. With the help of a warm temperature, and with 
daily sprinkling, my tiny fernery was soon a " thing of beauty," 
and a joy to me, at any rate. Then it struck me that a row of those 
white shells placed round the edge of the plate, outside the glass 
shade, would be charming ; so I hunted up my long-forgotten shells, 
and when I had arranged them to my mind, I thought my little 
center-table ornament was about perfect. Well, one day, two or three 
weeks after, when I was about to sprinkle my mosses, as usual, I saw 
one uf the shells move .' I rubbed my eyes — it could not be ! Yes, 
it certainly did move, and another and another! Goodness! What 
did it mean ? For a minute or two I was too much fiightened to do 
anything but stare and wonder. Presently, I ventured to look closer, 
and with a bit of stick to turn two or three of the shells over, when, 
lo and behold ! in every one were three or four moving white bodies 
with black heads. Then I was thoroughly scared, and what do 
you think 1 did? I, who had fancied myself something of a natural- 
ist, and who pride myself on being humane as well as scientific. 
What did 1 do but take my pet fernery, with its living occupants, 
into the "jungle" at the back of our house and slide it off the 
plate into the leafless bushes. Cruel and stupid, too, was it not? 
for who knows what wonderful discovery I might have made if I 
had only watched over and petted these little nondescripts, instead 
of turning them out on the frozen ground to shift for themselves. 
So would not Agassiz have done. Now, all I can do, dear Jack, 
is to ask some of your bright young hearers, who, no doubt, are 
posted up in conchology, what ivere these tiny creatures that the 
warm air and the moisture oozing from the fernery brought to life, 
after twenty years of dry and dark imprisonment, — fishes or insects 
or what? Inquirer. 


Here is a verse containing some X-Z-dingly 
queer words. Deacon Green wrote it one day, 
in the hope of puzzling the dear Little School- 
ma'am's best scholar. And what do you think 
that bright little youngster did ? 

Why, he opened a big volume, which the 
School-ma'am calls her Unabridged, and in less 
than five minutes he understood the Deacon's story 
perfectly. And so may you. It is called 

The Zealless Xvlographer. 

A Xylographer started to cross the sea 

By means of a Xanthic Xebec; 
But, alas, he sighed for the Zuyder Zee, 

And feared he was in for a wreck. 
He tried to smile, but 't was all in vain, 
Because of a Zygomatic pain ; 
And as for singing, his cheeriest tone 
Reminded him of a Xylophone — 
Or else when the pain would sharper grow 
His notes were as keen as a Zuffolo ' 
And so, it is likely, he did not find 
On board, Xenodochy to his mind. 
The fare was poor, and he was sure 
Xerophagy he could not endure ; 
And the end of it was, he never again 
In a Xanthic Xebec went sailing the main. 


Dear Jack : Pray let me tell you and your flock a new Three 
Black Crows story, which differs from the great original story in iwt 
being an exaggeration. Indeed, I have been assured on good 
authority that it is a perfectly true incident. 

A dog who was enjoying a large piece of meat was watched by 
three envious crows, who soon made an effort to snatch it away 
from him, but in vain. Then they withdrew to a neighboring tree, 
and apparently holding a hasty consultation, they proceeded to 
carry their plan of attack into execution. Two of them approached 

J A C K - I N - T KE-PULPI T . 

2 59 

the dog in the rear and suddenly bit his tail, while at the same 
instant a third crow drew as close as he dared to the meat. The 
biting was severe, and of course doggie turned with a yelp. In- 
stantly the crows seized upon the coveted meat and flew with it to 
the top of a high wall, where they made a hearty meal (for crows) 
in full sight of their astonished victim. 

Your faithful friend, M. G. I.. 


Albany, N. Y.,Nov. io, 1883. 
Dear Jack-in-the-Pulpit; It will be just a year ago Christmas 
since a very queer thing happened at our house. You see my 
brother Henry had a perfect rage for catching mice, and so had 
Ella's cat. I forgot to mention that there are three of us, — Ella, 
Henry, and me. Well, just for fun, Santa Claus put a large mouse- 
trap among Henry's Christmas presents, and that very night Henry- 
set it in the back kitchen. In the morning, before any one else was 
up, our cook came softly to our mom and whispered for Ella and me 
to "come and see." Well, we put on our clothes in a hurry and 
stole softly after her in our stocking-feet, neither of us saying another 
word, because she held her fingers to her lips. When we reached 
the back kitchen, what do you think we saw ? Why, Henry's trap, 
with three fine mice in it, safe and sound, but dreadfully frightened, 
and Ella's puss watching them with glaring eyes. She was too mad 
to move. You never saw a cat so dumbfounded. Well, Ella and I 
did n't know what to do. We knew the mice really belonged to 
Henry — but we knew, too, that the cat would seize them the mo- 
ment he opened the trap. Boys are so dreadful! Any way, the 
mice would be killed in some way, and it did seem too bad that they 
should, suffer any more after their double fright. So what did I do 

child money with which to buy the material. The queen forgot the 
circumstance till her birthday came, when she was reminded of it by 
the arrival of a pair of well-knit stockings and the maker's best 
wishes. Not to be outdone, Queen Marghcrita sent a pair to her 
young friend as a return gift, one stocking being full of silver coin 
and the other of bonbons. They were accompanied by a little note, 
" Tell me, my dear, which you liked best ? " This reply reached the 
palace next day: " Dearest Queen : Both the stockings have made 
me shed many bitter tears. Papa took the one with the" money, 
and my brother took the one with the bonbons." 


Dear Jack-in-the-Pulpit : Here is a little 
story, which I clip, for your young folk, from Our 
Venture, an admirable amateur magazine published 
in Scotland. Yours faithfully, 

Silas Green. 

Prince Peter of Oldenburg is chief of the Imperial colleges for 
girls, and exercises the duties of the office with diligence. Lately 
he decided to investigate, himself, whether there were any grounds 
for the numerous complaints which had reached him of the food at 
the Smolnig Convent, where about eight hundred girls are edu- 
cated. Going to the institute just before the dinner-hour, this 
chief of the Imperial colleges walked straight to the kitchen. At 
its door he met two soldiers carrying a huge steaming caldron. 
"Halt!" he cried out; "put that kettle down." The soldiers 

but run up and wake Henrv, and ask him what he would take for 
the first three mice he caught in his trap. 

"Three cents apiece," says he, quick as a flash. 

" Done ! " says I, and off I ran. 

Ellen and Cook held the cat ; I carried the trap all the way to the 
cellar, where I let the poor little creature out close by a hole in the 
wall. My, how they scampered ! They were out of sight in a 
twinkling. I was so glad. P.y that time Henry was up, but he was 
too late. I handed him his nine cents. You see, three cents a life 
was cheap, though it was a good deal of money for me. Bertha G. 


Now, how can a pair of stockings be sad ? 
The only answer I can give is to tell you this 
true story that came one breezy day to my pulpit : 

Some months ago, Queen Margherita, of Italy, asked a little girl 
to knit her a pair of silk stockings as a birthday gift, and gave the 

obeyed. "Bring me a spoon," added the Prince. The spoon 
was produced, but one of the soldiers ventured to begin a stam- 
mering remonstrance. "Hold your tongue!" cried the Prince; 
" take off the lid ; I insist on tasting it." No further objection was 
raised, and his Highness took a large spoonful. "You call this 
soup?" he exclaimed; "why, it is dirty water'" " // is, your 
Highness," replied the soldier; "we have just been cleaning out 
the laundry." 


The dear Little School-ma'am requests me to call 
your special attention to a paper in ST. NICHOLAS 
for last month, entitled " The Children's Christmas 
Club." This is a sort of seed-story, I 'm told, which, 
if properly attended to. will bloom and bear fine 
fruit for the next Christmas holidays — and many 
a New Year after. 





Des Moines, Iowa. 
Dear St. Nicholas: The children in our neighborhood had a 
concert for ihc benefit of the Cottage Hospital this summer, and the 
principal piece in it was " The Land oi" Nod," published in St. 
Nicholas of iSSo. The concert was under the management of 
Carrie Weaver and myself, two girls of sixteen. We played it at 
Carrie's home, her father being so kind as to make a stage for us. 
We made nearly thirty dollars. Every one who heard the play 
thinks it is lovely. The oldest one in it was thirteen years oid; the 
youngest, four. A little girl played the accompaniments. As we 
realized so much, I thought you would like to hear of our success. 
Your constant reader, 

Julia Morrison. 

The above is only one out of many letters informing us of the 
successful performance of Mr. Brooks's capital operetta; and we 
are sure that we shall hear as favorable accounts from the same 
author's Christmas play, in our last number, entitled, " The 
Three Somber Young Gentlemen and the Three Pretty Girls." 
Mr. Brooks has written a whole series of similar plays, which, under 
the general title of " Comedies for Children," will appear in future 
numbers of St. Nicholas. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I think 1 can tell a funnier tale about birds' - 
nests. Our servant hung out some clothes to air one day, and a 
little wren began to build a nest in one leg of a pair of trousers. 

Your constant reader, Reginald. 

Locust Grove, Kent Co., Md. 

New Orleans. 
Dear St. Nicholas : Please print this letter for me; I am seven 
years old, and when my St. Nicholas comes, Mamma reads it to 
me, and helps me guess the puzzles. We live in the country, but 
my sister Flora got sick, and Mamma took her here, and took me, 
too. Flora says I must not write on the other side of this paper, so 
I wont. In the country I have a sweet little pony named Slipper; 
I go out riding every evening. Flora says I have written too much, 
so I '11 stop. Your loving friend, Jennie C. 

Tarrytown, October 31st, 1883. 
Dear St. Nicholas: In the " Letter-box" I saw that a lady want- 
ed to know how to train her dog. I do not think that there is any 
particular way to do it. We have a pug, and he knows quite a good 
many tricks — at least, I think so. He can sit up on his haunches, 
give his paw, sneeze when he wants you to take a walk, walk on his 
hind-legs for his dinner, sit up with a cake on his nose till you 
count five, when he will eat it; and then if you put a cake on the floor 
and say, "Cost money," he will not touch it till you say, "Paid 
for." He takes the letters from the postman, and plays hide the 
handkerchief. But this is not telling how to teach other dogs to do 

these things. When I taught him to "cost money," I slapped his 
head when he went to eat the cake : then he tried to paw it, but I 
hit his paw, and he was wise enough not to try it again. He taught 
himself to play hide the handkerchief — that is, when we were 
playing, as he was running around he found it; he seemed to be 
pleased, so after that we played with him. This is such a long letter 
that I am afraid you will not publish it ; but 1 hope you will. I have 
taken you for a long time. Your loving friend, 

Susie E. M 

Boston, September 3, 1883. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I saw, in a recent Jac!:-in-ihe-Pulpit, an 
inquiry as to how rubber balls were made hollow. I think they are 
made in two pieces, which are afterward fitted together. My 
brother had a rubber ball, and it came apart in two pieces. 

I would like tu ask you a question, to be answered through the 
Letter-box. What is the difference between gutta-percha and India- 
rubber'.' It is not a conundrum. 

I like you very much. I have you from the beginning bound in 
the covers you have for that purpose. I think "The Tinkham 
Brothers' Tide-Mill " is very nice indeed. I liked " Phaeton Rogers " 
very much. 

I hope you will print this letter, as it is the first I have written 
you. Yours truly, C. Herbert Swan, Jr. 

Oakland, Cal., August 29, 1883. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I have taken you for over a year, and 
love you a great deal. I think the way rubber balls are made is by 
blowing them the way you do glass things. I can't think of any- 
thing else to say. so will bid you good-bye. Your little friend, 

Karl Sevinson. 

My little brother has been hearing of the way in which glass is 
manufactured and blown, and thought, all of himself, that rubber 
balls were made in that way, so dictated the above note, thinking 
that it might be the right answer. Yours, Esther Sevinson. 

Which of the theories about the rubber ball is correct, young 
friends ? One of the letters, vou 'U notice, comes from the Atlantic 
coast and the other from the Pacific — so, rubber balls must be famil- 
iar affairs at both ends of the continent. — Who can answer the ques- 
tion as to the difference between India-rubber and gutta-percha? 

Ottdmwa, Iowa. 
Dear St. Nicholas : My cousin who lives in New York sends 
the St. Nicholas to my sister and me every month. We enjoy read- 
ing it ever so much. A friend of mine made a match house from 
the description given in St. Nicholas for November, 18S1, and it 
was a perfect success. We have a sewing society of eighteen girls, 
and when we sold the things we had made, among others we sold 
the match house, for which we received forty cents. I will be fifteen 
very soon. Ever your friend, Nellie H. P. 


We were sorry that our report was necessarily deferred last month, 
but we are partially consoled by the very large number of bright 
and encouraging letters which have reached us during the past four 
weeks. The most satisfactory evidence of the real vigor of the A. A. 
is the fresh zeal with which our Chapters return to their work after 
the long summer vacation. 

Their unanimous voice is, " We are more interested than ever." 
'* We have returned to our work with renewed enthusiasm." " We 
have not forgotten the A. A. during our vacation journeyings, but 
have brought back from sea-side or mountain-top many beautiful 
specimens for oor cabinet, which shall serve also as pleasant reminders 
of the happy hours spent in searching for them. " 

Such expressions prove that our interest in Nature is not a pass- 
ing fancy, but a permanent attachment: the reason being that the 
field for our observation is without limit, and the more we learn, the 
more we see, beyond, that we wish to know. 

The subject for the entomological essays this month is Insects in 
General. The papers should be planned somewhat as follows: — 

1. Define insects, as a class, as fully and accurately as possible. 

2. Describe any typical insect fully. 

3. Give the sub-divisions of the class Insecta, with a definition 
and example of each. 

C a. Scavengers. 

TT f • „, . ; b. Food-producers. 

4. Uses of insects: \ c • 

1 c. spinners. 

( Etc., etc. 

5. Insects as emblems or types. 

Of course, it is not necessary lhat this scheme be rigidly followed, 
or even adopted at all. But it may prove useful in showing how to 
go to work to outline a paper that shall have some logical connec- 
tion of thought. 

This is the last exercise of the course; and as soon as possible 
after the papers have been sent to Prof. G. Howard Parker (as ex- 
plained in July St. Nicholas!, the diplomas will be awarded, and 
the successful students named here. 

The following scheme closes our course in botanical observation. 
It might be continued through TricJwjnes, or the minute hairs that 
beset plants ; but perhaps that would be too difficult at present. 
For full explanation of the work to be done this month, we refer 

i8S 4 .] 



again to St. Nicholas for July, where Prof. Jones's plan is fully 
set forth. 

Even those who have not followed this course during the past six 
months, will find Prof. Jones's schedules of great value as a guide 
to private botanical study next summer. 

d. Pistils, 


Shapes (see leaves, etc.), 

Open (pines, etc.), 






shapes (see leaves and 



brushes (composite, 

shapes (see leaves and 


ovary (see fruit also), 

central placental, 
two or more celled, 
ovules (see seeds also), 
position in pod, 
position on stalk, 

wings, 1 


It is proper to note in parsing that, by an error, Prof. Jones's 
name was given incorrectly in a recent report. His address is — 
Marcus E. Jones, Salt Lake City, Utah. 

Our thanks are due to the gentlemen whose kind offers o( assist- 
ance follow. 

It will give me much pleasure to assist your A. A. Society, so 
far as I am able, in matters pertaining to American eoleoptera. 
Very truly yours, 

Fred. C. Bowditch, Tappa st.. Brookline, Mass. 

51 Douglass street, Brooklyn, N. Y. 
I shall be glad to assist your A. A. with the macro-lepidoptera. 
I hope that the members will freely tax my knowledge of this branch 
of entomology with questions and determinations. 

Sincerely yours, A. W. Putman-Cramer. 

Academy of Natural Sciences of Philadelphia, 

S. W. Cor. of Nineteenth and Race streets, 

Philadelphia, August 14, 1883. 

To Harlan H. Ballard, Esq., Agassiz Association, Lenox, Mass. 

Dear Sir: I beg leave to state that, if agreeable to you, I 

would be most happy to aid in answering any questions, that can 







seeds (mature ovules), 

appendages (see pol- 
fruits (mature pistils), 
dry fruits, 

indehiscent (never 
dehiscent (opening 
to release the 
trut capsules, 
stone fruits, 

outer coat (dry or 

inner coat, 
fleshy fruits, 
strobiles (conesl, 

conical (compositae, etc.), 

urn-shaped (roses, etc.), 

etc. (see leaves), 




be answered, upon ethnology. Communications addressed to me, 
care of Ethnological Department, Academy of Natural Sciences, 
Philadelphia will receive prompt attention. 

Yours truly, H. '1". Cresson. 

The new chapters, formed since our latest report, follow : 

New Chapters. 

No. Name, No. of Members. Address. 

522 Sharon, Conn., (A) 16. . Miss Caroline S. Roberts. 

523 Chicago, 111., (O) 4.. A. L. Baxter, 334 Monroe st. 

524 Milwaukee, Wis., (A).... 6.. A. S. Taylor, 135 Mariin sL 

525 Monmouth, 111., (A) 4. .D, E. Waid. 

526 Leavenworth, Kas., (B).. 5. Harry Johnson. 

527 San Francisco, Cal., (G). 6. .Norman Sinclair, 1633 Tylerst. 

528 Huntingburg, Ind., (A).. 4..H. C. Rotheit. 

529 Buffalo, N. Y., (H) 7. .Miss Margarett Evans, 44 No. 


530 St. Johnland, N. Y., (A). 7 ..Wm. H. White. 

531 Chicago, 111., (P) 6.. Harry Hiisch, 3011 Mich ave. 

532 Sewickley, Pa., (A) 7. . M. A. Christy. 

533 Troy, N. Y., (A) 7. .Robert M. Cluett, Jr., 52 4th. 

534 London, Eng., (C) 5.. Montague Gunning, 52 Tavis- 

tock square 

535 Chapel Hill, N. C, (A).. 5.. Miss Uara.J. Martin. 

536 St. Johnsbury, Vt., (A) .. 5.. I. J. Romer, box 821. 

537 Mansfield, O., (A) n.. E. Wilkinson, Jr. 

538 Evanston, 111., (A) 4. .Mrs. Morton Hull. 

539 W. Phiia., Pa., (P) 10. .C. M. List, 3406 Hamilton. 

540 Oskaloosa, Iowa, (B)... 18..O. D McMains, box 682. 

541 Chicago, III., (Q) 4. Oren E. Taft, 3014 Mich ave. 

542 Faribault, Minn., (A) . . . . 10. St. Mary's Hall. 

543 Washington, N. J., (A).. 5. .Dr. W. M. Bairdlock, box 6. 

544 Oxford, Miss., (A) 6..Ch. Woodward Hutson, Uni- 

versity of Miss. 

545 Fall River, Mass., (A)... 8.0. K. Hawes. 

546 Palo, Iowa, (A) 10. . Miss Mella Barnhill. 

547 Shellsburg, Iowa, (A) . 25. .Ollie M. Thompson. 


Minerals for Indian relics. Write first. — W. G. Merritt, Battle 
Creek, Mich. 

Maple and other leaves, pressed and oiled leaves. — L. A. Nichol- 
son, Vancouver, W. T. 

Silkworm cocoons (Samia cyjithia), for pressed plants. — f. 
McLeod, 247 W. 23d st., New York, N. Y. 

Fine minerals. — E. Y. Gibson, 123 W. Washington ave, Jackson, 

Attains cecropia, for other moths, or butterflies. — Miss McFar- 
land. 1727 F. st. Washington, D. C. 

Michigan copper ore, for nearly pure mica. — E. R. Heitshu, Lan- 
caster, Pa. 

Cotton balls and leaves. Write first. — Ennie Stone, Columbia, 
S. C. 

Eggs, blown through one hole, and bird skins. — Grafton Parker, 
2238 Michigan ave., Chicago, 111. 

Perfect pentremites, for 4-oz. specimens of stilbite, wavellite, lepi- 
dolite. or ores of zinc, tin, or mercury. — F. W. Wentworth, 153 
25th st , Chicago, 111. 

A collection of twelve different kinds of eggs, a sand-dollar, sea- 
urchin, and star-fish, for a perfect trilob'te, not less than three inches 
long. Also, petrified shark's teeth. Write first. — R. W. Wood, Jr., 
Jamaica Plain, Mass. 

Correspondence with a view to exchange. — A. S. Taylor, 153 
Martin st., Milwaukee, Wis. 

Skins of black-capped titmice and other birds, for insects. Insects 
in papers preferred. — W. E. Olr.ey, East Providence, R. I. 

Pampas grass plumes and sea mosses for minerals and shells. 
Write first. — Edith Drennan, Santa Cruz, Cal. 

Book on insects and cocoons of Illinois. Write first. — Ch. B. 
Coxe, box 78, Rogers Park, 111. 

Four-leaved clovers. — L. L. Lewis, box 174, Copenhagen, N.Y. 

Gold and silver ore, etc., for insects. — Frank Burrill, Lisbon, 

Sand-dollars, sea-urchins, and star-fish, for rare moths or beetles. 
— Belle Walker. 81 School st., Concord. N. H. 

Minerals and eggs. — W. K Trimble, Princeton, 111. 

Star-fish and crystals. Write first. — Ch. Ennis, Lyons, N. Y. 

Petrified palm-wood, lor eggs or insects. — W. D. Burnham, 607 
Curtis St., Denver, Col. 

N. B. — What can we feed silkworms on ? There are no mulberry 
leaves here. [Some one please tell as all.] 

General exchanges. — Kitty C. Roberts, sec, Blackwater, Florida. 

I will send good specimens of concretions of pyrites in argilh'te to 
any Chapter sending ten cents to pay postage. I will send my ex- 
change list of invertebrate fossils to any one who will send me his. — 
W. R. Lighton, sec. Chapter 15. 




Minerals and flowers. — Annie Darling, 47 Concord sq., Boston, 

Eggs, moths, and butterflies. — Warren Adams, 307 N. 3d St., 
Camden, N. J. 

Horned nuts from China, for a " sea-horse." — A. Lawson Baxter, 
sec. 521, 334 W. Monroe st., Chicago, 111. 

Canal coal, iron ore, and canary eggs, for eggs. — John C. Clapp, 
Jr., 729 E. 4th, So. Boston, Mass. 

Labeled minerals, for labeled fossils; crinoids, for zinc, tin, and 
iron ore. — E. P. Boynton, Cedar Rapids, Iowa. 

Rare lepidoptera, for Lima and Io cocoons, H. Eurytris, Lycsena 
Epinanthe, P. Ajax, Cynthia Lavinia, etc. Send for list of dupli- 
cates. Folded specimens preferred. — Edwin H. Pierce, 16 Seminary 
st., Auburn, N. Y. 

Reports from Chapters. 

15. Ottumiva, Iowa.— We have been very busy since my last re- 
port. By an entertainment which we gave, we cleared $33.05, and 
we are going to get a room at once. Most of the furnishings have 
been promised to us already. Dr. C N. Ball, Eldon, Iowa, offers 
his services to the A. A. as an expert mineralogist and chemist. — 
Will. R. Lighton. 

441. Valparaiso, Chili, — You asked me to give you some account 
of South American life. The Chilenos carry their milk about in tins 
on horses. Ihey carry their potatoes and other vegetables in skins 
tied on horses , and in selling them, they measure by deka litres. 
They sell grapes by the bunch, and peaches, apples, etc., by the 
dozen. The common people wear a large shawl, called a " manto," 
instead of a hat. On feast days, they dance several fancy dances. 
The huasas, or country men, go about on horseback. Their saddles 
are made of sheep-skins ; and if overtaken by night, they unstrap 
them, and make themselves comfortable beds. Here in Valparaiso 
are seven English schools and some lyceums. We have a cabinet. 
A gentleman very generously gave us $10. A microscope has been 
ordered. Hoping the A. A. will prosper. — W. Sabina, Sec. 

109. Washington, D. C. — We have had several field meetings. 
One at Mt. Vernon, where we found Indian strawberry ( Fragaria 
I'esca), which is rare here. — Robert P. Bigelow, 1501 iSth, N.W. 

409. Princeton, III., Oct. 15, 18S3. — Our Chapter, which number- 
ed six in July, has now fifteen members. We hold meetings every 
week. The attendance is always good, and the reports full of in- 
terest. I wish the A. A. reports were longer. — Harry Bailey. 

[They are/] 

257. Planisville, Conn., B., Oct. 15, 1883. — During the summer 
quite a number of coleoptera have been collected — some quite rare. 
Last summer we collected many cocoons, and kept them carefully 
through the winter. This summer several fine moths hatched from 
them. One of our members has brought from Switzerland a very 
pretty collection of Alpine flowers. The latest meetings promise 
well for the work during the fall and winter. — L. J. Smith. 

87. N. }'., B. — The fall has brought new enthusiasm to us. More 
interest is now felt than ever. One of our members has just returned 
from a tour in Europe. We are attempting to combine the Chap- 
ters of this city on the same plan as the Buffalo Chapters. — Geo. 
Aery, Jr., 257 Madison Ave. 

[The plan is excellent, and ought to succeed.} 

339. Salt Lake, A . — Two new members. The interest in our 
meetings is steadily growing. We have notes on subjects relating to 
Natural Science, and learn a great deal in studying for them. Then, 
we have started something in the way of original investigation. 
Each selects one object, and examines it carefully, finds out all he 
can about it, and then tells us what be has discovered. We are now 
preparing microscopic slides of nil things of interest which we have. 
For instance, of the pubescence of plants, the hairs of quadrupeds, 
the feathers of birds, and the different parts of the bodies of insects. 
Our zoologist has a stuffed specimen of the yellow-bellied marmot, 
which he killed at the height of about io,coo feet near Alta. Our 
ornithologist had an owl in confinement for some time, studying its 
habits. Please ask the other Chapters whether an owl has the power 
of moving its eyes in their sockets or not. 

[ We will, with pleasure. Has an oivl the power of moving its 
eyes in their sockets f\ 

We are going to spend next summer in taking mountain trips and 
collecting specimens. — Fred. E. Leonard. 

353. Phila , Pa., K. — Our Chapter is still progressing. Two new 
members. We have put up some shelves in our room, and have 
some minerals and birds' eggs. We have added several new books 
to our library, and have a scrap-book nearly full of newspaper clip- 
pings We have visited the Academy of Sciences. — W. M. Yeomans, 
1959 N. 13th. 

448. Wfishingtoti, D. C, G. — We have lately been busy with the 
back numbers of St. Nicholas, and are now quite familiar with the 
history of a very "happy thought." Chapter 448 is disposed to be 
enthusiastic. Its members have, with one exception, all been present 
at every meeting. The absentee was on a trip to California. We 
have a cabinet, an herbarium, and mnny miscellaneous specimens. 
Our members are about twelve years old, on an average. We have 
two new members. Over our cabinet hangs a stalk of shepherd's 
crook grass (?) from Kansas, eight feet in length. — Isabelle F. 

\W ill some one tell us more about this shepherd's crook grass ?] 

509. Macomb, III., A. — Progressing nicely. We meet at each 
other's houses every Friday afternoon after school. Almost all of us 
have been collecting insects during the summer. We have a paper 
read every two weeks, to which we contribute original articles on 
anything pertaining to Natural History. The Chapter is divided into 
two parts, and each part edits the paper alternately. We cannot 
understand how other Chapters have nice club-rooms and cabinets 
and microscopes, etc. Where do they get their money? We like 
the A. A. very much. — Nellie H. TunmclifF. 

[ The next letter may siioiu where the money comes from .'] 

395. Montreal, Canada, A. — H. H. Ballard, Lenox, Mass., 
U. S. — Dear Sir: I intended to write you before this; but 
as the press of business has been so great, I could not get time. 
Since writing you last, seven very pleasant meetings have been held, 
at which sixteen new members joined, making a total of twenty- 
eight regular members. We also elected seven honorary members, 
including Messrs. F. B. Caulfield, taxidermist; J. M. M. Duff; Wm. 
Couper, editor Canadian Sportsman and Naturalist; Rev. Canon 
Norman. M. A., D. C. L. ; Rev. Canon Ellegood, M. A. ; Rev. 
Jas. McCaul, and Dr. Dawson, LL. D., F. R. S., F. G. S-, C. M. G., 
Principal McGill University. We have purchased a cabinet, and 
have already filled it so full that we had to order another one about 
twice as large. You can imagine the size of the collection we have, 
when I tell you the cabinet we have now is six feet high and three 
feet wide, and then it does not hold half the collection. We held a 
lecture a few weeks ago in aid of the society. It was a grand suc- 
cess, as we paid for the cabinet, purchased a number of valuable 
specimens for the museum, and had $7 as a balance on hand. We 
are going to open a room for the society about the 1st of May, 
which will be used as a museum and reading-room. — W. D. Shaw. 
Address: 34 St. Peter st., Montreal, Can. 

313. Chicago, H. — We have been going on over a year; and 
although our numbers are small, we take quite an interest in our 
work. Wc hope to have a nice cabinet in a short time. We gave 
an entertainment, and it could not have gone ofFbetter. Each mem- 
ber had his piece perfectly. Here is the programme : 1. Piano solo. 
-2. Opening address. 3. Essay — Life of Agassiz. 4. Debate — 
Resolved, That the study of minerals is more useful than the study 
of plants. 5. Recitation. 6. Essay — Wood and its uses. 7. Speech. 
Part 2. — 1. Music. 2. Song. 3. Debate — Resolved, That general- 
ists accomplish more than specialists in the study of Nature. 4. Poem, 
by Longfellow, on Agassiz's birthday. 5. Essay — Benefits derived 
from the study of Nature 6 Recitation. 7. Recitation. 8. Hu- 
morous reading. 9. Music. 10. Refreshments — Ice cream {animal 
and vegetable and mineral). Cake (vegetable and animal). 
Strawberries (vegetable). Lemonade (mineral and vegetable). — 
O. J. Stein. 

2214. Corresponding member. — My interest in the A. A. has never 
flagged. My older sister and one younger are alike interested in 
every branch. Our specialty is insects. We have many from 
foreign countries, and all found in this vicinity. We have over three 
hundred cocoons and chrysalids now, that will come out during the 
next six months. We have five hundred sea-shells, two hundred 
minerals, one hundred and ten kinds of woods, sea-mosses, lichens, 
pressed flowers and ferns, and about seventy-five birds' eggs. We 
try to learn about insects first, but learn what we can, from time to 
time, of the other things. We have Harris, aJl of Dr. Packard's 
books, "Insect Lives," and " English Butterflies" ; and we take the 
Papilio, by Edwards. My sister often writes to him for information 
when we cannot find a name; also to Professor Riley, of Washing- 
ton, D. C, and to Dr. Scudder of Cambridge. We have Groti's 
Check List and one of the Lepidoptera of U. A. — Will. C. Phillips, 
New Bedford, Mass., box 3. 

157. Detroit, Mich., C. — One new member. We are planning a 
large cabinet for our united collections. — A. T. Worthington. 

352. Amherst, Alass. — With the exception of two, who have left 
town, our working members remain with us. We have many plants 
to exchange. Our boys find nothing so interesting as entomology. 
We had one place for meeting last year, but now go about to the 
homes of the members, and find that what was begun as a necessity 
proves pleasanter than the eld way. — Edith M. Field. 

391. Meredith, N. H. — Our Chapter has been doing finely all 
summer. Our labor has been confined chiefly to the collection of 
plants, of which we have about one hundred and fifty. Wc are all 
farmers' children, some of us at school, some leaching, or working 
at trades, so we do not have so much time as we wish, but we shall 
do our best. — C. F. Robinson. 

25S. Reading, Pa., A. — We have a total of twenty-four active 
and interested members. All of us have the silver engraved badges, 
and are quite proud of them. We have studied coral, lichens, pond- 
lilies, moss, diamonds, cotton, flax, spiders, and birds. 0_r routine 
was on one occasion varied by-a general discussion on the sparrow 
question. We have bad some correspondence with 133, and carnest- 
lydesire to communicate with other Chapters. — Miss Helen B. Baer, 
and G. F. Baer, Esq., Sec. 

409. SagHarbor, N. V. — Our Chapter is getting on very well, 
and now numbers twenty-seven regular and seven honorary mem- 
bers. Our coIlecti"n of specimens has increased largely. At our 
weekly meetings, the president gives out two questions to each mem- 
ber, to be answered at next meeting. — Cornelius R. Sleight. 

374. Brooklyn, E. — We have given a parlor concert. C. K. Lin- 



son gave us a "chalk talk.'' At one side of the parlor we had a 
table with some specimens on it ; and after the entertainment we in- 
vited our friends to inspect them. We have now money enough to 
get a cabinet. We have decided to have a course of lectures — one 
delivered by each member on his chosen branch. — A. D. Phillips. 

[This "-course of lectures " is one 0/ the brightest plans yet pro- 

350. Neillsville, Wis., A. — My report is late, but not for lack of 
interest. Though busy people, we find time to pursue our study out- 
doors. Sometimes, instead of our regular evening meeting, we take 
the afternoon, or all day, and go off" for a regular tramp to the 
woods, the fields, or the river. — Mrs. M. F. Bradshaw. 

472. Hazleton, Pa., A. — We are making individual collections. 
We spend most of our time in studying the formation of the rock 
and coal found here. — Anne A. McNair. 

1S0. Milford, Conn., A. — The secretary's address is changed to 
W. A. Buckingham, box 422. 


57. Icebergs. — Icebergs are formed from glaciers. These often 
extend from the sea for miles into the interior, and have an exceed- 

ingly slow motion down into the water. When the end of the glacier 
has been forced so far into the sea that the strain caused by the up- 
ward pressure of the water is stronger than the cohesive force of the 
ice, vast portions break off from the gbcicr, and rising through the 
water, float off as icebergs. [See Question 7, in Report 23.] — E. 
B. Stockton. 

5S. Star -Jtsh — I have seen a six-rayed star-fish — in other re- 
spects exactly like the ordinary five-rayed ones. — A. 

59. Bluets. — I have found bluets (Houstonia Cernlt'a) with three, 
four, five, and six petals. — H. 

Other interesting notes must go over until February, and we close 
this report by wishing all the members and friends of the Agassiz 
Association a very Happy New Year. 

Address all communications to the President, 
Harlan H. Ballard, 

Principal of Lenox' Academy, 

Lenox, Berkshire Co., Mass. 



First Puzzle. Rebus. Read, as a rebus, the pictures on the 
holly -leaves, beginning with the one in the upper left-hand corner. 
The result will be a verse from one of J. G. Whittier's poems. 

Second Puzzle. Illustrated Zigzag. Each of the ten small illus- 
trations may be described by a word of four letters. When these 

have been rightly guessed, and plnced one below another in the 
order here given, the zigzag, beginning at the upper left-hand 
corner, will spell a name familiar at this season. g. s. 


Lichl rais dan nirtwy sniwd ! Ym rea 

Sha wrong arimlafi twih royu nogs; 
I erha ti ni eht nigenop arey, 

I selnit, dan ti sherce cm goln. 


I am composed of seventy-eight letters, and am part of a poem by 
John Ruskin. 

My 35-51-21-10-24 is to observe attentively. My 54-22-47-14-5 
is dexterous. My 33-75-49-15-62-23 is a small cable. My zC isone 
hundred. My 69-45-17-27-64-9-50-25-78 is to institute. My 63- 
36-4-70 is a dish that has been cooked by boiling slowly. My 52- 
30-71 is an adjective often used in connection with the ioregoing 
dish. My 19-68-6-39-16 is a place of public contest. Mv 66-11- 
55-20-40 is to move to and fro. Mv 18-60-13-57 is a girl's name. 
My 32-12-44 is a covering for the head. My 4S-74-3-8-31 is a 
fiend. My 67~5^-42-59--;7 is to weave so as to produce the appear- 
ance of diagonal lines. My 58-46-1-73 is external aspect. My 41- 
76-34-77-56-65-43 is inscribed. My 72-38-29-28-2-7-61 is a small 
elevation of land. " parthenia." 


From 1 to 9, to oscitate ; from 2 

, a preposition ; from 3 to < 

. _ .H . >-, , II Ulll ^ LU M. d.1 I il4 Urtl.ll- iUlV 1 , 

from 6 to 9, a metal : from 7 to 9, an ecclesiastical dignitary ; from 
S to 9. level. 

The letters represented by the figures from 1 to S spell the old 
name for a time of merry-making. dvcie. 


The centrals, reading downward, name an inland country of Asia. 

Cross-words: i. A seaport town of England. 2. The most 
south-western county of Connecticut. 1. A name by which a city 
of Belgium, capital of the province of West Flanders, is sometimes 
called. 4. A seaport city of Brazil. 5. The city nf France in which 
Henry IV. was born. 6. In Atlantic. 7. The abbreviation of one 
of the United States. 8. A city of Hungary located on the Danube. 
9. The capital of New Mexico. 10. An island in the Atlantic Ocean 
belonging to Great Fritain. n A small town in Bradford County, 
Pennsylvania. A. tassin. 





Each of the ten pictures may be described by a word of five let- 
ters, or else is a five-letter word made into a rebus. When these ten 
words have been rightly guessed, syncopate the central letter of the 
first word, and it will leave a garden vegetable; the second, a fleet 
animal ; the third, an ascent; the fourth, to gasp; the fifth, places; 
the sixth, units; the seventh, a pause; the eighth, pastry, the 
ninth, to revolve; the tenth, kitchen utensils. The syncopated 
letters will spell a well-known name. a. g. 


The first letters of the beheaded words, read in the order here 
given, will spell the name of an American poet. 

Cross-words: 1. Behead sluggish, and leave depressed. 2. Be- 

head a small opening, and leave unrefined metal. 3. Behead to 
oscillate, and leave a side-building. 4. Behead a kind of turf, and 
leave to consume. 5. Behead round, and leave a small mass of no 
definite shape. 6. Behead a very hard mineral, and leave raveled 
linen. h. powell. 


How short my Jirsf, when pleasure has full sway ; 
How long, when pain and sickness fill the day. 
How oft my second fills my Jirst with glee, 
Though on the morrow sad the reckoning be. 
My whole will tell you when myjirst is past, 
Useful no more till you reverse my last. 


e>-8-5-4-3-£-4-7-4-4- 9-8-6-2-4- 1 . 

Place thsse sixteen figures in the sixteen vacant squares of the 
diagram in such a manner that the sum of twenty-one may be 
obtained by combining four of the figures in fourteen different ways, 
namely : 

The figures in each of the four lines reading across to amount to 

The. figures in each of the four lines reading up and down to 
amount to twenty-one. 

The four corner figures to amount to twentv-one. 
. The four central figures to amount to twenry-one. 

The four figures (2) above and (2) below the central figures 
to amount to twenty-one. 

The four figures (2) right and (2) left of the central figures to 
amount to twenty-one. 

The diagonals from the upper left-hand corner to the lower right- 
hand comer to amount to twenty-one. 

The diagonals from the upper right-hand corner to the lower left- 
hand comer to amount to twenty-one. william kobert h. 


Proverb Rebus. Fools make feasts and wise men eat them. 

Two Puzzles for Thanksgiving. I. " Small cheer and great 
welcome makes a merry feast." — Comedy of Errors, Act iii. , So 1. 
II. Primals, Suez; finals, Erie. Cross-words: 1. ScribE. 2. Ul- 
terioR. 3. Ennui. 4. ZouavE. Rebus: The Suez Canal opened 
November seventeenth, 186S. Erie Canal finished November sec- 
ond, 1825. 

Incomplete Rhomboid. Across: 1. Hoop. "2. Wood. 3. 
Fool. 4. Loot. 5. Room. 6. Poor. 7. Tool. 8. Doom. 9. 
Foot. 10. Noon. 11. Rook. 

Diamond, i. P. 2. For. 3. Corea. 4. Forceps. 5. Por- 
celain 6. Reelect. 7. Apace. 8. Sit 9. N. 

Anagrammatical Spelling-lesson. 1. Liliputian. 2. Om- 
nipotent. 3. Promiscuous. 4. Tempestuous. 5. Lexicographer. 
6. Constellation. 

Three Words Within Words. 1. C-a-pit-a-1 2. D-is-put- 
in-g. 3. G-at-her-in-g. 4. P-art-is-an-s. 5. B-on-a-part-e. 

Double Diagonals. From left to right, Michigan : from right 
to left, Superior. Cross-words: 1. Miracles. 2. Dialogue. 3. 
Decrepit. 4. Hitherto. 5. Usurious. 6. Triangle. 7. Con- 
jugal. 8 Rogation. 

Diamond in a Half-square. Cross-words : 1. Deleted. 2. 
Elided. 3. Linen. 4. Eden 5 Ten. 6. Ed. 7. D. Included 
Diamond: 1. L. 2. Lid. 3. Linen. 4. Den. 5. N. 

Zigzag Pocahontas. Cross-words: 1. Purl. 2. NOte. 3. 
RaCk. 4. EtnA. 5. OtHo. 6 MOle. 7. Nigh. 8. ATom. 
9. FiAt. 10 IsiS. 

Easy Word-squares. I. 1. Leaf. 2. Emma. 3. Amen. 4. 
Fans. II 1. Arms. 2. Root. 3. Mode. 4. Stem. III. 1. 
Wink. 2. Iron 3. Nose. 4. Knee. 

The names of those who send solutions are printed in the second number'after that in which the puzzles appear. Answers should be 
addressed to St. Nicholas " Riddle-box." care of The Century Co., 33 East Seventeenth street, New York City. 

Answers to All the Puzzles in the October Number were received, before October 20, from Paul Reese — "A. P. Owder, Jr." — 
"Professor and Co."— S. R. T— Philip Embury, Jr.— Alex. Laidlaw — Maggie T. Turrill — Heath Sutherland— P. S. Clarkson — Wil- 
lard Little — Bessie. C. Rogers — "2045" la^rib — "San Anselmo Valley" — The Two Annies — Two Subscribers — C. S. C. — Madeleine 
Vultee — George Willi.- m Sumner — Hugh and Cis — Francis W. Islip — Harry M. Wheelock — Mabel B. Canon. 

Answers to Puzzi.f.s in the October Number were receivec", before October 20. from Samuel Holzman, 4 — Fannie S., 1 — Georgie 
Denton, 1 — Susie Sadtler and Lillie Van Meter, 5 — Howard Rondlhaler, 1 — Tille, 5 — G. M. R. T, 5 — Edward J. V. Shipsey, G — 
Guy Van Arminge, 1 — Weston Sticknev. 4 — Albert Sticknev, Jr , 1 — Wm. B. Morninsstem, n — C. Louise Weir, 3— M. T. Pierce, 
12 — M. B. Clarke, 5— C. Howard Williams, 2 — " Patience/' y — E. T. S., 1 — " Buckingham Lodcre," 8— Marie Pitts, 8 — Ed and 
Louis, 4 — Henrv Amsden, 2 — Ernestine Wyer, Arthur G. Farwell. and Sidney E. Farwell, e, — " Gen'l Warren," 7 — Allan Lindsley, 1 — 
"The Stewart Browns " 12 — Minnie B. Murray, 7 — W. H. W., 4 — Arian Arnold, 10 — Jennie and Birdie, 10 — Effie K. Talboys, 9 — 
Ethel M. Eager, 9— " Kansas Bov." - — " Hoffman H ." 5 — " Fin. I. S," 12 — Louisa'H.. 6 — Pansy and Elsie, 4— F. Sternberg. 12 — 
"Boston," 4. — Dvcie, 10 — Willie Trapier, 1 — Emma Traoier. 2 — Samuel Branson. 7 — E. M., Jr., 2 — Florence Galbraith Lane. 9 — 
Emmit and Frankie Nicoli, i — D. B. Sbumwav. 12 — " Kingfishers," 4— Beth Lovitt, 8 — No Name, Philadelphia, 12— Millie White, 
7 — Fred Thwaits, 12 — Jessie A. Piatt, 12 — Charles H Kyte, 10 — Marguerite Kyte, 1 — Eliza Westervelt, 4 — Florence Savoye, 6 — 
Essie lackson, 10 Florence E. Provost. 9 — Vessie Westnver, 7 — L. I., 10 — Theo. B. Appel, 10 — Annie Custer, 12 — Margaret S. 
Bush, 6 — Clara J. Child, 12— Paul England, 3— Teanne Bull. 2 — The Tame Irishman, 8 — Katie L. Robertson. 6— Mother. Bertha, 
and Reby, 3 — G. Lansing, 11 — Nella, Maude, and Tat, 11 — Lily and Agnes Warburg, 12 — Hester Powell, 5 — Marion Kent, 7. 


(See article in this number entitled "An Engraver on Wheels.") 


Vol. XI. 

FEBRUARY, 1884. 

No. 4. 

[Copyright, 1884, by The CENTURY CO.] 


By Louisa M. Alcott. 

The storm kept on all night, and next morning 
the drifts were higher, the wind stronger, and the 
snow falling faster than ever. Through the day 
the children roved about the great house, amusing 
themselves as best they could ; and, when evening 
came, they gathered around the fire again, eager 
for the promised story from Grandmamma. 

" I 've a little cold," said the old lady, " and am 
too hoarse for talking, my dears ; but Aunt Elinor 
has looked up a parcel of old tales that I 've told 
her at different times and which she has written 
down. You will like to hear her reading better 
than my dull way of telling them, and I can help 
Minnie and Lotty with their work, for I see they 
are bent on learning to spin." 

The young folk were well pleased with Grand- 
ma's proposal ; for Aunt Nell was a favorite with 
all, being lively and kind and fond of children, 
and the only maiden aunt in the family. Now, 
she smilingly produced a faded old portfolio, and, 
turning over a little pile of manuscripts, said in 
her pleasant way : 

" Here are all sorts, picked up in my travels at 
home and abroad ; and in order to suit all of you, 
I have put the names on slips of paper into this 
basket, and each can draw one in turn. Does that 
please my distinguished audience ? " 

"Yes, yes. Geoff's the oldest, let him draw 
first," cried the flock, fluttering like a flight of 
birds before they settle. 

"Girls come first," answered the boy. with a 
nod toward the eldest girl cousin. 

Lotty put in her hand and, after some fumbling, 
drew out a paper on which was written, ''Tabby's 
Table-cloth," " Is that a good one?" she asked, 
for Geoff looked disappointed. 

" More fighting, though a girl is still the hero- 
ine," answered Aunt Nell, searching for the manu- 

" I think two revolutions will be enough for you, 
General," added Grandmamma, laughing. 

" Do we beat in both ? " asked the boy, bright- 
ening up at once. 


"All right, then. I vote for ' Dolly's Dish-cloth,' 
or whatever it is ; though I don't see what it can 
possibly have to do with war," he added. 

"Ah, my dear, women have their part to play 
as well as men at such times, and do it bravely, 
though one does not hear so much about their 
courage. I 've often wished some one would col- 
lect all that can be found about these forgotten 
heroines, and put it in a book for us to read, 
admire, and emulate when our turn comes." 

Grandma looked thoughtfully at the fire as she 
spoke, and Lotty said, with her eye on the port- 
folio : " " Perhaps Aunt Nell will do it for us. Then 
history wont be so dry, and we can glorify our fore- 
mothers as well as fathers." 

"I '11 see what I can find. Now spin away, 
Minnie, and sit still, boys. — if you can." 

Then, having settled Grandma's foot-stool, 
and turned up the lamp. Aunt Nell read the 
tale of 




On the 20th day of March, 1775, a little girl was 
trudging along a country road with a basket of eggs 
on her arm. She seemed in a great hurry, and 
looked anxiously about her as she went ; for those 
were stirring times, and Tabitha Tarbell lived in a 
town that took a famous part in the Revolution. 
She was a rosy-faced, bright-eyed lass of fourteen, 
full of vigor, courage, and patriotism, and just then 
much excited by the frequent rumors which reached 
Concord that the British were coming to destroy 
the stores sent there for safe keeping while the 
enemy occupied Boston. Tabby glowed with wrath 
at the idea, and (metaphorically speaking) shook 
her fist at august King George, being a stanch 
little Rebel, ready to fight and die for her country 
rather than submit to tyranny of any kind. 

In nearly every house something valuable was 
hidden. Colonel Barrett had six barrels of powder ; 
Ebenezer Hubbard, sixty-eight barrels of flour; axes, 
tents, and spades were at Daniel Cray's ; and Cap- 
tain David Brown had guns, cartridges, and musket 
balls. Cannon were hidden in the woods ; fire- 
arms were being manufactured at Barrett's Mills ; 
cartouch- boxes, belts, and holsters, at Reuben 
Brown's ; saltpetre at Josiah Melvin's ; and much 
oatmeal was prepared at Captain Timothy Wheel- 
er's. A morning gun was fired, a guard of ten men 
patrolled the town at night, and the brave farmers 
were making ready for what they felt must come. 

There were Tories in the town who gave the 
enemy all the information they could gather ; there- 
fore, much caution was necessary in making plans, 
lest these enemies should betray them. Pass-words 
were adopted, secret signals used, and messages 
sent from house to house in all sorts of queer ways. 
Such a message lay hidden under the eggs in 
Tabby's basket, and the brave little girl was going 
on an important errand from her uncle, Captain 
David Brown, to Deacon Cyrus Hosmer, who lived 
at the other end of the town, by the South Bridge. 
She had been employed several times before in the 
same way, and had proved herself quick-witted, 
stout-hearted, and light-footed. Now, as she trot- 
ted along in her scarlet cloak and hood, she was 
wishing she could still further distinguish herself 
by some great act of heroism ; for good Parson 
Emerson had patted her on the head and said, 
" Well done, child ! " when he heard how she ran 

all the way to Captain Barrett's, in the night, to 
warn him that Doctor Lee, the Tory, had been 
detected sending information of certain secret 
plans to the enemy. 

'• 1 would do more than that, though it was a 
fearsome run through the dark woods. Would n't 
those two like to know all I know about the stores ? 
But I would n't tell 'em, not if they drove a bayonet 
through me. I 'm not afeared of 'em ; " and Tabby 
tossed her head defiantly, as she paused to shift 
her basket from one arm to the other. 

But she evidently was "afeared" of something, 
for her ruddy cheeks turned pale and her heart 
gave a thump as two men came in sight, and 
stopped suddenly on seeing her. They were 
strangers ; and though nothing in their dress in- 
dicated it, the girl's quick eye saw that they were 
soldiers ; step and carriage betrayed it, and the 
rapidity with which these martial gentlemen 
changed into quiet travelers roused her suspicions 
at once. They exchanged a few whispered words ; 
then they came on, swinging their stout sticks, one 
whistling, the other keeping a keen lookout along 
the lonely road before and behind them. 

" My pretty lass, can you tell me where Mr. 
Daniel Bliss lives?" asked the younger, with a 
smile and a salute. 

Tabby was sure now that they were British ; for 
the voice was deep and full, and the face a ruddy 
English face, and the man they wanted was a well- 
known Tory. But she showed no sign of alarm be- 
yond the modest color in her cheeks, and answered 
civilly : " Yes, sir, over yonder a piece." 

" Thanks, and a kiss for that," said the young 
man, stooping to bestow his gift. But he got a 
smart box on the ear, and Tabby ran off in a fury 
of indignation. 

With a laugh they went on, never dreaming that 
the little Rebel was going to turn spy herself, <and 
get the better of them. She hurried away to Dea- 
con Hosmer's, and did her errand, adding thereto 
the news that strangers were in town. " We must 
know more of them," said the Deacon. " Clap a 
different suit on her, wife, and send her with the 
eggs to Mrs. Bliss. We have all we want of them, 
and Tabby can look well about her, while she rests 
and gossips over there. Bliss must be looked after 
smart! v. for he is a knav;, and will do us harm." 



Away went Tabby in a blue cloak and hood, 
much pleased with her mission ; and, coming to 
the Tory's house about noon smelt afar off a savory 
odor of roasting meat and baking pics. 

Stepping softly to the back-door, she peeped 
through a small window, and saw Mrs. Bliss and 
her handmaid cooking away in the big kitchen, 
too busy to heed the little spy, who slipped around 
to the front of the house to take a general survey 
before she went in. All she saw confirmed her 
suspicions ; for in the keeping-room a table was 
set forth in great style, with the silver tankards, 
best china, and the tine damask table-cloth, which 
the housewife kept for holidays. Still another 
peep through the lilac bushes before the parlor 
windows showed her the two strangers closeted 
with Mr. Bliss, all talking earnestly, but in too low 
a tone for a word to reach even her sharp ears. 

" I will know what they are at. I 'm sure it is 
mischief, and I wont go back with only my walk 
for my pains," thought Tabby ; and marching into 
the kitchen, she presented her eggs with a civil 
message from Madam Hosmer. 

"They are mighty welcome, child. 1 Ye used 
a sight for my custards, and need more for the 
flip. We Ye company to dinner unexpected, and 
[ 'm much put about," said Mrs. Bliss, who seemed 
to be concerned about something besides the din- 
ner, and in her flurry forgot to be surprised at the 
unusual gift ; for the neighbors shunned them, and 
the poor woman had many anxieties on her hus- 
band's account, the family being divided, — one 
brother a Tory and one a Rebel. 

" Can I help, ma'am ? I 'm a master hand at 
beating eggs, Aunt Hitty says. I 'm tired, and 
would n't mind sitting a bit if I 'm not in the 
way," said Tabby, bound to discover something 
more before she left. 

"But you be in the way. We don't want any 
help, so you 'd better be steppin' along home, else 
suthin' besides eggs may git whipped. Tale- 
bearers are n't welcome here," said old Puah, the 
maid, a sour spinster, who sympathized with her 
master, and openly declared she hoped the British 
would put down the Yankee rebels soon and 

Mrs. Bliss was in the pantry, and heard nothing 
of this little passage of arms ; for Tabby hotly 
resented the epithet of " tale-bearer," though she 
knew that the men in the parlor were not the only 
spies on the premises. 

" When you are all drummed out of town and 
this house burnt to the ground, you may be glad 
of my help, and I wish you may get it. Good- 
day, old crab-apple," answered saucy Tabbv ; and, 
catching up her basket, she marched out of the 
kitchen with her nose in the air. 

But as she passed the front of the house, she 
could not resist another look at the fine dinner 
table ; for in those days few had time or heart 
for feasting, and the best napery and china 
seldom appeared. One window stood open, and 
as the girl leaned in, something moved under the 
long cloth that swept the floor. It was not the 
wind, for the March day was still and sunny, and 
in a minute out popped a gray cat's head, and 
puss came purring to meet the new-comer whose 
step had roused him from a nap. 

"Where one tabby hides another can. Can I 
dare to do it ? What would become of me if found 
out? How wonderful it would be if I could hear 
what these men are plotting. I will." 

A sound in the next room decided her; and, 
thrusting the basket among the bushes, she leaped 
lightly in and vanished under the table, leav- 
ing puss calmly washing her face on the window- 

As soon as it was done Tabby's heart began to 
flutter; but it was too late to retreat, for at that 
moment in bustled Mrs. Bliss, and the poor girl 
could only make herself as small as possible, quite 
hidden under the long folds that fell on all sides 
from the wide, old-fashioned table. She dis- 
covered nothing from the women's chat, for 
it ran on sage cheese, egg-nog, roast pork, and 
lamentations over a burnt pie. By the time 
dinner was served, and the guests called in to 
eat it. Tabby was calm enough to have all her 
wits about her, and pride gave her courage to 
be ready for the consequences, whatever they 
might be. 

For a time the hungry gentlemen were ton busy 
eating to talk much ; but when Mrs. Bliss went 
out, and the flip came in. they were ready for 
business. The window was shut, whereat Tabby- 
exulted that she was inside ; the talkers drew closer 
together, and spoke so low that she could only 
catch a sentence now and then, which caused her 
to pull her hair with vexation ; and they swore a 
good deal, to the great horror of the pious little 
maiden curled up at their feet. But she heard 
enough to prove that she was right ; for these men 
were Captain Brown and Ensign De Bernicre, of the 
British army, come to learn where the supplies 
were stored and how well the town was defended. 
She heard Mr. Bliss tell them that some of the 
•' Rebels." as he called his neighbors, had sent him 
word that he should not leave the town alive, and 
he was in much fear for his life and property. 
She heard the Englishmen tell him that if he 
came with them they would protect him ; for they 
were armed, and three of them together could 
surely get safely off, as no one knew the strangers 
had arrived but the slip of a girl who showed them 

2 TO 



the way. Here "the slip of a girl" nodded her 
head savagely, and hoped the speaker's ear still 
tingled with the buffet she gave it. 

Mr. Bliss gladly consented to this plan and told 
them he would show them the road to Lexington, 
which was a shorter way to Boston than through 
Weston and Sudbury, the road they came. 

"These people wont fight, will they?" asked 
Ensign De Bernicre. 

" There goes a man who will fight you to 
the death," answered Mr. Bliss, pointing to his 
brother Tom, busy in a distant field. 

The Ensign swore again, and gave a stamp that 
brought his heavy heel down on poor Tabby's hand 
as she leaned forward to catch every word. The 
cruel blow nearly forced a cry from her ; but she 
bit her lips and never stirred, though faint with 
pain. When she could listen again, Mr. Bliss was 
telling all he knew about the hiding places of the 
powder, grain, and cannon the enemy wished to 
capture and destroy. He could not tell much, for 
the secrets had been well kept; but if he had 
known that our young Rebel was taking notes of 
his words under his own table, he might have been 
less ready to betray his neighbors. No one sus- 
pected a listener, however, and all Tabby could do 
was to scowl at three pairs of muddy boots, and 
wish she were a man that she might fight the 
wearers of them. 

She very nearly had a chance to fight or fly ; 
for just as they were preparing to leave the table 
a sudden sneeze nearly undid her. She thought 
she was lost, and hid her face, expecting to be 
dragged out to instant death, perhaps, by the 
wrathful men of war. 

"What 's that?" exclaimed the Ensign, as a 
sudden pause followed that fatal sound. 

" It came from under the table," added Captain 
Brown, and a hand lifted a corner of the cloth. 

A shiver went through Tabby, and she held her 
breath, with her eye upon that big, brown hand; 
but the next moment she could have laughed with 
joy, for pussy saved her. The cat had come to 
doze on her warm skirts, and when the cloth was 
raised, fancying he was to be fed by his master. 
Puss rose and walked out purring loudly, tail erect, 
with its white tip waving like a flag of truce. 

" 'T is but the old cat, gentlemen. A good beast. 
and, fortunately for us. unable to report our con- 
ference," said Mr. Bliss, with an air of relief, for he 
had started guiltily at the bare idea of an eaves- 

" He sneezed as if he were as great a snuff- 
taker as an old woman of whom we asked our 
way above here," laughed the Ensign, as they all 

" And there she is now. coming along as if our 

grenadiers were after her ! " exclaimed the Cap- 
tain, as the sound of steps and a wailing voice 
came nearer and nearer. 

Tabby took a long breath, and vowed that she 
would beg or buy the dear old cat that had saved 
her from destruction. Then she forgot her own 
danger in listening to the poor woman, who came 
in crying that her neighbors said she must leave 
town at once, for they would tar and feather a 
body for showing spies the road to a Tory's house. 

" Well for me I came and heard their plots, or 1 
might be sent off in like case," thought the girl, 
feeling that the more perils she encountered, the 
greater heroine she would be. 

Mr. Bliss comforted the old soul, bidding her 
stay there till the neighbors forgot her, and the 
officers gave her some money to pay for the costly 
service she had done them. Then they left the 
room, and after some delay the three men set off ; 
but Tabby was compelled to stay in her hiding- 
place till the table was cleared, and the women 
deep in gossip as they washed dishes in the kitchen. 
Then the little spy crept out softly, and raising the 
window with great care, ran away as fast as her 
stiff limbs would carry her. 

By, the time she reached the Deacon's, however, 
and told her tale, the Tories were well on their way, 
Mr. Bliss having provided them with horses that 
his own flight might be the speedier. 

So they escaped ; but the warning was given, and 
Tabby received great praise for her hour under the 
table. The towns-people hastened their prepara- 
tions, and had time to remove the most valuable 
stores to neighboring towns; to mount their can- 
non and drill their minute-men ; for these resolute 
farmers meant to resist oppression, and the world 
knows how well the)' did it when the hour came. 

Such an early spring had not been known for 
years; and by the 19th of April fruit trees were in 
bloom, winter grain was up, and the stately elms 
that fringed the river and overarched the village 
streets were budding fast. It seemed a pity that 
such a lovely world should be disturbed by strife ; 
but liberty was dearer than prosperity or peace, and 
the people leaped from their beds when young Dr. 
Prescott came, riding for his life, with the message 
Paul Revere brought from Boston in the night : 

" Arm ! arm ! the British are coming ! " 

Like an electric spark the news ran from house 
to house, and men made ready to fight, while the 
brave women bade them go, and did their best to 
guard the treasure confided to their keeping. A 
little later, word came that the British were at 
Lexington, and blood had been shed. Then the 
farmers shouldered their guns with few words but 
stern faces, and by sunrise a hundred men stood 
ready with good Parson Emerson at their head. 

i88 4 .; 



More men were coming in from the neighboring 
towns, and all felt that the hour had arrived when 
patience ceased to be a virtue and rebellion was 

Great was the excitement everywhere ; but at 
Captain David Brown's one little heart beat high 
with hope and fear as Tabby stood at the door, 
looking across the river to the town, where drums 
were beating, bells ringing, and people hurrying to 
and fro. 

" I can't fight, but I must see," she said ; and 
catching up her cloak, she ran over the North 
Bridge, promising her aunt to return and bring her 
word as soon as the enemy appeared. 

"What news — are they coming?" called the 
people from the Manse and the few houses that 
then stood along that road. But Tabby could only 
shake her head and run the faster in her eagerness 
to see what was happening on that memorable day. 
When she reached the middle of the town she 
found that the little company had gone along the 
Lexington road to meet the enemy. Nothing 
daunted, she hurried in that direction and, climb- 
ing a high bank, waited to catch a glimpse of the 
British grenadiers, of whom she had heard so 

About seven o'clock they came, the sun glitter- 
ing on the arms of eight hundred English soldiers 
marching toward the hundred stout-hearted farmers, 
who waited till they were within a few rods of them. 

" Let us stand our ground ; and if we die, let us 
die here," said brave Parson Emerson, still among 
his people, ready for anything but surrender. 

"Nay," said a cautious Lincoln man, "it will 
not do for us to begin the war." 

So they reluctantly fell back to the town, the 
British following slowly, being weary with their 
seven-mile march over the hills from Lexington. 
Coming to a little brown house perched on the hill- 
side, one of the thirsty officers spied a well, with 
the bucket swinging at the end of the long. pole. 
Running up the bank, he was about to drink, when 
a girl, who was crouching behind the well, sprang 
up, and with an energetic gesture, flung the water 
in his face, crying : 

" That 's the the way we serve spies ! " 

Before Ensign De Bernicre — for it was he, acting 
as guide to the enemy — could clear his eyes and 
dry his drenched face, Tabby was gone over the 
hill with a laugh and a defiant gesture toward the 
red-coats below. 

In high feather at this exploit, she darted about 
the town, watching the British at their work of 
destruction. They cut down and burnt the liberty 
pole, broke open sixty barrels of Hour, flung five 
hundred pounds of balls into the mill-pond and 
wells, and set the court-house on fire. Other par- 

tics were ordered to different quarters of the town 
to ransack houses and destroy all the stores they 
found. Captain Parsons was sent to take posses- 
sion of the North Bridge, and De Bernicre led the 
way, for he had taken notes on his former visit, 
and was a good guide. As they marched, a little 
scarlet figure went flying on before them, and van- 
ished at the turn of the road. It was Tabby has- 
tening home to warn her aunt. 

" Quick child, whip on this gown and cap and 
hurry into bed. These prying fellows will surely 
have pity on a sick girl, and respect this room if 
no other," said Mrs. Brown, briskly helping Tabby 
into a short night-gown and round cap, and tuck- 
ing her well up when she was laid down, for be- 
tween the plump feather beds were hidden many 
muskets, the most precious of their stores. This 
had been planned beforehand, and Tabby was 
glad to rest and tell her tale while Aunty Brown 
put physic bottles and glasses on the table, set 
some evil-smelling herbs to simmer on the hearth, 
and, compromising with her conscience, concocted 
a nice little story to tell the invaders. 

Presently they came, and it was well for Tabby 
that the Ensign remained below to guard the doors 
while the men ransacked the house from garret 
to cellar, for he might have recognized the saucy 
girl who had twice maltreated him. 

" These are feathers ; lift the covers carefully or 
you '11 be half smothered, they fly about so," said 
Mrs. Brown, as the men came to some casks of 
cartridges and flints, which she had artfully ripped 
up several pillows to conceal. 

Quite deceived, the men gladly passed on, leav- 
ing the very things they most wanted to destroy. 
Coming to the bed-room, where more treasures of 
the same valuable sort were hidden in various nooks 
and corners, the dame held up her finger, saying, 
with an anxious glance toward Tabby : 

" Step softly, please. You would n't harm a 
poor, sick girl. The doctor thinks it is small-pox, 
and a fright might kill her. I keep the chamber 
as fresh as I can with yarbs, so I guess there is n't 
much danger of catching it." 

The men reluctantly looked in, saw a flushed 
face on the pillow (for Tabby was red with run- 
ning, and her black eyes wild with excitement), 
took a sniff at the wormwood and motherwort, 
and with a hasty glance into a closet or two where 
sundry clothes concealed hidden doors, hastily re- 
tired to report the danger and get away as soon 
as possible. 

They would have been much disgusted at the 
trick played upon them if they had seen the sick 
girl fly out of bed and dance a jig of joy as they 
tramped away to Barrett's Mills. But soon Tabby 
had no heart for merriment as she watched the 




minute-men gather by the bridge, saw the British 
march down on the other side, and when their first 
volley killed brave Isaac Davis and Abner Hosmer, 
of Acton, she heard .Major Buttrick give the order, 
'■ Fire, fellow-soldiers ; for God's sake, fire ! " 

For a little while shots rang, smoke rose, shouts 
were heard, and red and blue coats mingled in 
the struggle on the bridge. Then the British fell 
. back, leaving two dead soldiers behind them. 
These were buried where they fell ; and the bodies 
of the Acton men were sent home to their poor 
wives, Concord's' first martyrs for liberty. 

No need to tell more of the story of that 

Bliss was confiscated by government. Some things 
were sold at auction, and Captain Brown bought 
the tine cloth and gave it to Tabby, saying 
heartily : 

" There', my girl, that belongs to you, and you 
may well be proud of it ; for thanks to your quick 
wits and eyes and ears we were not taken unawares, 
but sent the red-coats back faster than they came. 1 ' 

day ; all 
snow it, 
and many 
have made 
a pilgrim- 
age to see the old monument set up where the 
English fell, and the bronze Minute-Man, standing 
on his granite pedestal to mark the spot where the 
brave Concord farmers fired the shot that made 
the old North Bridge immortal. 

We must follow Tabby, and tell how she got 
her table-cloth. When the fight was over, the 
dead buried, the wounded cared for, and the pris- 
oners exchanged, the Tories were punished. Dr. 
Lee was confined to his own farm on penalty of 
being shot if he left it, and the property of Daniel 

And Tabby was proud of it, keeping it carefully, 
displaying it with immense satisfaction when she 
told the story, and spinning busily to make a set 
of napkins to go with it. It covered the table 
when her wedding supper was spread, was used 
at the christening of her first boy, and for many a 
Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner through the 
happy years of her married life. 

Then it was preserved by her daughters as a 
relic of their mother's youth, and long after the old 
woman was gone, the well-worn cloth still appeared 
on great occasions, grew too thin for any- 
thing but careful keeping, to illustrate the story 
so proudly told by the grandchildren, who found 
it hard to believe that the feeble old lady of ninety 
could be the lively lass who played her little part 
in the Revolution with such spirit. 



In 1S61, Tabby's table-cloth saw another war, 
and made an honorable end. When men were 
called for. Concord responded " Here ! " and sent 
a goodly number, led by another brave Colonel 
Prescott. Barretts, Hosmers, Melvins, Browns, 
and Wheelers stood shoulder to shoulder, as their 
grandfathers stood that day to meet the British by 
the bridge. Mothers said, ''Co, my son," as 
bravely as before, and sisters and sweethearts 
smiled with wet eyes as the boys in blue marched 
away again, cheered on by another noble Emerson. 
More than one of Tabby's descendants went, some 
to fight, some to nurse ; and for four long years 
the old town worked and waited, hoped and 
prayed, burying the dear dead boys sent home, 
nursing those who brought back honorable wounds, 
and sending more to man the breaches made by 
the awful battles that filled both North and South 
with a wilderness of graves. 

The women knit and sewed, Sundays as well 
as week days, to supply the call for clothes ; the 
men emptied their pockets freely, glad to give, 
and the minister, after preaching like a Christian 
soldier, took off his coat and packed boxes of 
comforts like a tender father. 

" More lint and bandages called for, and I do 
believe we 've torn and picked up every old rag 
in the town," said one busy lady to another, as 
several sat together making comfort-bags in the 
third year of the long struggle. 

" I have cleared my garret of nearly everything 
in it, and only wish 1 had more to give," answered 
one of the patriotic Barrett mothers. 

" We can't buy anything so soft and good as 
worn-out sheets and table-cloths. New ones wont 
do, or I 'd cut up every one of mine," said a newly 
married Wheeler, sewing for dear life, as she re- 
membered the many cousins gone to the war. 

" I think I shall have to give our Revolutionary 
table-cloth. It 's old enough, and soft as silk, 
and I 'm sure my blessed grandmother would 
think that it could n't make a better end." spoke 
up white-headed Madam Hubbard, for Tabby 
Tarbell had married one of that numerous and 
worthy race. 

" Oh, you would n't cut up that famous cloth, 
would you?" cried the younger woman. 

" Yes. I will. It 's in rags, and when I 'm gone 
no one will care for it. Folks don't seem to re- 
member what the women did in those days, so it 's 
no use keeping relics of 'em." answered the old 
lady, who would have owned herself mistaken if 
she could have looked forward to 1876, when the 
town celebrated its centennial, and proudly ex- 
hibited the little scissors with which Mrs. Barrett 
cut paper for cartridges, among other ancient 
trophies of that earlier dav. 

So the ancient cloth was carefully made into 
a box-full of the finest lint and softest squares to 
lay on wounds, and sent to one of the Concord 
women who had gone as a nurse. 

" Here 's a treasure ! " she said, as she came to 
it among other comforts newly arrived from home. 
" Just what I want for my brave Rebel and poor 
little Johnny Bullard." 

The " brave Rebel " was a Southern man who 
had fought well and was badly wounded in many 
ways, yet never complained; and in the midst of 
great suffering was always so courteous, patient, 
and courageous, that the men called him " our 
gentleman," and tried to show how much they 
respected so gallant a foe. John Bullard was an 
English drummer boy, who had been through 
several battles, stoutly drumming away in spite of 
bullets and cannon-balls; cheering many a camp- 
lire with his voice, for he sang like a blackbird, 
and was always merry, always plucky, and so great 
a favorite in his regiment, that all mourned for 
" little Johnny " when his right arm was shot off at 
Gettysburg. It was thought he would die ; but he 
pulled through the worst of it, and was slowly 
struggling back to health, still trying to be gay, 
and beginning to chirp feebly now and then, like 
a convalescent bird. 

" Here, Johnny, is some splendid lint for this 
poor arm, and some of the softest compresses for 
Carrol's wound. He is asleep, so I '11 begin with 
you, and while I work I '11 amuse you with the story 
of the old table-cloth this lint came from," said 
Nurse May, as she stood by the bed where the 
thin, white face smiled at her. though the bov 
dreaded the hard quarter of an hour he had to 
endure every day. 

'• Thanky, mum. We 'ave n't 'ad a story for 
a good bit. I 'm 'arty this mornin', and think I '11 
be hup by this day week, wont 1 ? " 

'•I hope so. Now shut your eyes and listen ; then 
you wont mind the twinges I give you, gentle as I 
try to be," answered the nurse, beginning her pain- 
ful task. 

Then she told the story of Tabby's table-cloth, 
and the boy enjoyed it immensely, laughing out at 
the slapping and the throwing water in the ensign's 
face, and openly rejoicing when the red-coats got 
the worst of it. 

"' As we 've beaten all the rest of the world. 1 
don't mind our 'aving bad luck that time. We 
har' friends now, and I '11 tight for you. mum, like 
a British bull-dog. if 1 hever get the chance," said 
Johnny, when the tale and dressing were ended. 

'■ So you shall. I like to turn a brave enemy 
into a faithful friend, as I hope we shall yet be able 
to do with our Southern brothers. I admire their 
courage and their lovaltv to what they believe to be 




right ; and we are all suffering the punishment we 
deserve for waiting till this sad war came, instead 
of settling the trouble years ago, as we might have 
done if we had loved honesty and honor more than 
money and power." 

As she spoke, Miss Hunt turned to her other 
patient, and saw by the expression of his face that 
he had heard both the tale and the talk. He smiled, 
and said, " Good morning," as usual, but when 
she stooped to lay a compress of the soft, wet 
damask on the angry wound in his breast, he 
whispered, with a grateful look ; 

"You have changed one 'Southern brother' 
from an enemy into a friend. Whether I live or 
die, I never can forget how generous and kind you 
have all been to me." 

" Thank you ! It is worth months of anxiety 
and care to hear such words- Let us shake hands. 

and do our best to make North and South as good 
friends as England and America now are," said the 
nurse, offering her hand. 

'• Me, too ! I Ye got one 'and left, and 1 give it 
ye with all' me 'art. God bless ye, sir, and a lively 
getting hup for the two of us ! " cried Johnny, 
stretching across the narrow space that divided the 
beds, with a beaming face and true English readi- 
ness to forgive a fallen foe when he had proved a 
brave one. 

The three hands met in a warm shake, and the 
act was a little lesson more eloquent than words 
to the lookers-on ; for the spirit of brotherhood 
that should bind us all together worked the miracle 
of linking these three by the frail threads spun a 
century ago. 

So Tabby's table-cloth did make a beautiful and 
useful end at last. 

By E. Vinton Blake. 

Oh, the winds were all a-blowing down the blue, blue sky, 
And the tide was outward flowing, and the rushes flitted by 
All the lilies seem'd to quiver 
On the fair and dimpled river, . 
All the .west was golden red ; 

We were children four together, 
In the pleasant autumn weather. 
And merrily down we sped. 



Oh, the town behind us faded in the pale, pale gray, 
As we left the river shaded, and we drifted down the bay ; 
And across the harbor bar, 
Where the hungry breakers are, — 
You and Grace, and Tom and I, — 

To the Golden Land, with laughter, 
Where we 'd live in peace thereafter, 
Just beyond the golden sky. 

Oh, the winds were chilly growing o'er the gray, gray sea, 
When a white-winged bark came blowing o'er the billows on our lee. 
Cried the skipper, all a-wonder : 
"Mercy on us! over yonder — 
Bear a hand, my lads, with me — 
Four young children all together. 
In this pleasant evening weather, 
Go a-drifting out to sea!" 

All our prayers were unavailing, all our fond, fond hopes, 
For our ( '.olden Land had vanished with its fair and blooming slopes 
As the skipper, with loud laughter. 
Towed our little shallop after, — 
Homeward, by the dreary bay. 

Fast our childish tears were flowing, 
Chill the western wind was blowing, 
And the gold had turned to gray. 





By R. t. 

I will not speak of " pangs sincere," 
Of "loves" and "doves" by poets sung 
Since you are still a trifle young 

To understand such things, my dear: — 

But only ask you "to be mine" 
Till he, who, some day, is to win 
Your love, — (the young scamp !) — shall step in 

And claim vou for his Valentine. 








By Clara Erskine Clement. 

Painting in Germany. 

The Emperor Charles IV., of German)', who 
reigned from 1348 to 1378, was a great lover and 
patron of the Fine Arts, and in Prague, the capital 
of Bohemia, a school arose under his care which is 

creased by Hirschvdgel. an artisan who traveled 
in Italy and learned to make majolica. His factory, 
established at Nuremburg in 1507, was the first in 
all Germany in which such ware was made. It is 
not certain that playing-cards were invented in 
Nuremburg, but they were manufactured there as 

important in the history of art, since from it what early as 1380, and cannon were cast there in 1356 ; 

is called German art may be dated. We know that 
the Emperor was very liberal and employed Italian 
artists, as well as those from all parts of Germany, 
to work in his favorite Prague ; but so little is 
known of the lives of the earliest masters or of the 
authorship of the few pieces of ancient painting 
which remain, that I shall not attempt to tell you 
anything about them. 

There were other early schools of painting at 
Cologne, Colmar, Ulm, Augsburg, Westphalia, 
and Nuremburg. I shall tell you of the great mas- 
ter of the latter school ; but, before speaking of lasting importance of Nuremburg, for all this 

previous to this they had been made of iron bars 
soldered together lengthwise and held in place by 
hoops. In short, the manufacturers of Nuremburg 
were so widely known as to give rise to a proverb, 

' ' Nnrembnrg's hand, 

Goes through every land " ; 

and thus the city had the sort of importance which 
success and wealth bring to a person or a place. 

But as this importance is not the highest and 
best that can be gained, so it was not the most 

him, I shall say something of Nuremburg itself, 
which was a very important place during the fif- 
teenth and sixteenth centuries, and is still a city of 
great interest to travelers. 

Nuremburg was a place of consideration even in 
the time of the Emperor Henry IV., who ennobled 
thirty-eight families there. In 12 19, Henry V. raised 
it to the rank of a free imperial city, and during the 

commercial and moneyed prosperity was lost ; but 
the fame which the city acquired on account of its 
literary men, its artists, and their works, still re- 
mains. I will not speak here of the authors and 
scholars of the old city ; but of its artists something 
must be said. 

At the close of the fifteenth and the beginning of 
the sixteenth century, besides Albert Diirer, there 

middle ages it was very important on account of its were Peter Yischer and his five sons, sculptors 

enormous traffic between the great sea-port of and bronze casters ; Adam Krafft, sculptor ; Veit 

Venice and the countries of the East, and all north- Stoss, a wonderful wood-carver, and a goodly 

ern Europe. Through its commerce it became a company of painters and engravers whose works 

very rich city, and its burghers established manu- and names are still admired and respected. When 

factories of various sorts, and so built up its trade we consider all these advantages that Nuremburg 

that skillful artisans flocked there, and many discov- 
eries were made which still have a great influence 
in the world. 

The first paper-mill in Germany was in Nurem- 
burg, and Koberger's printing-house, with its twen- 
ty-four presses, was so attractive to authors that 
they settled at Nuremburg in order the more con- 
veniently to oversee the printing of their works. 
Watches, called " Nuremburg Eggs," were first 
made about 1500; the clarionet was invented there, 
and church organs were better made than in any 
other German town. A new composition of brass, 
the air-gun. and wire -drawing machinery were 
all Nuremburg devices. The filigree silver and 
gold work, — the medals, images, seals and other 
artistic jewelry which were made by the fifty master 
goldsmiths who dwelt there. — were famous far and 
wide ; and this variety of manufactures was in- 

enjoyed, we do not think it strange that she should 
have been called the " Gothic Athens." 

Diirer's time was an interesting one in the his- 
tory of Europe, or, we may say. of the world. He 
was born twenty-one years before Columbus dis- 
covered America. In his day, too, Vasco di Gama 
sailed the southern seas ; Copernicus wrote of his 
observations and discoveries, and all Europe was 
deeply agitated by the preaching of the Reforma- 
tion by Martin Luther. Men of thought and power 
were everywhere discussing great questions ; the 
genius of invention was active ; the love of the 
beautiful was indulged, and the general wealth 
and prosperity of Europe supported the artists and 
encouraged them to strive for great attainments. 

Diirer was the friend of Gian Bellini, of Raphael, 
Ouintin Matsys, Lucas van Leyden, and many 
other artists, as well as of many people in high 

^'Copyright, 18S1, by Clara Erskine Clement. All rights reserved. 




position in all parts of Germany, and in some 
other countries ; and if he did not actually found 
a new school of art, he certainly perfected that 
which already existed in his country ; and since 
he was not only a painter, an architect, sculptor, 
but engraver, and writer upon art, his influence 
upon his time and nation can scarcely be over- 

Albert DOrer 

Was born at Nuremburg in 1471. His father was 
a master goldsmith, and had eighteen children 
born to him — seven daughters and eleven sons. 
We can understand how he must have toiled to 
care for all these children ; and besides the toil 
he had great sorrows, for fifteen children died. 
Three sons only, Albert, Andreas, and Hans, 
reached mature age. The portraits which Albert 
painted of his father show so serious and worn a 
face, that one sees in them the marks his struggles 
had left. We also know that he was a man much 
respected ; for though he was but a craftsman, he 
was honored by the friendship of prominent men, 
and the famous Koberger was godfather to the 
baby Albert. 

One of the advantages that the young Albert 
had as a result of his father's position, was an 
association with Willibald Pirkheimer, who was 
about his own age and of a rich and patrician 
family. Through this friendship, Albert saw some- 
thing of a more refined life than that in his father's 
house, and was also able to learn certain things, in 
which Willibald's tutors instructed him, that were 
not taught to the sons of artisans. Among other 
writings, Albert Diirer made a history of his fam- 
ily, in which, speaking of his father, he said : 

" He had many troubles, trials, and adverse circumstances. But 
yet from every one who knew him he received praise, because he 
led an honorable Christian life, and was patient, giving all men 
consideration, and thanking God. * ; * My dear father took 
great pains with his children, bringing them up to the honor of God. 
He made us know what was agreeable to others, as well as to our 
Maker, so that we might become good neighbors; and every day 
he talked to us of these things, the love of God, and the conduct 
of life." 

From his earliest years Albert Diirer loved 
drawing, and there are sketches in existence made 
when he was a mere child ; there is a portrait of 
himself in the Albertina at Vienna, upon which is 
written, "This I have drawn from myself from 
the looking-glass, in the year 1484, when I was 
still a child. — Albert DiJRER." The expression 
of the face is sad; it was painted 'in the same 
year that his father took him into his workshop, 
intending to make a goldsmith of him. Doubtless, 
the training which he received here was to his 
advantage, and gave him the wonderful delicacy 
and accuracy of execution which he showed in his 
later works. He writes of this time : 

" But my love was toward painting, much more than toward the 
goldsmith's craft. When at last I told my father of my inclination, 
he was not well pleased, thinking of the time I had been under him 
as lost if I turned a painter. But he left me to have my will ; and 
in the year 14S6, on St. Andrew's .Day, he settled me apprentice 
with MichaelWohlgemuth, to serve him for three years. In that 
time God gave me diligence to learn well, in spite of the pains I had 
to suffer from the other young men." 

This last sentence doubtless refers to rudeness 
and jeering from his companions, to which he was 
quite unaccustomed. The art of his master was 
not of a high order, and we doubt if Albert Diirer 
learned anything from him beyond the mechanical 
processes, such as the mixing of colors and facility 
in using his brush. But in his walks about Nurem- 
burg he was always seeing something that helped 
him to form himself as an artist. Nuremburg still 
retains its antique beauty, and much of it remains 
as he saw it ; there are narrow streets, with quaint 
houses, gable-roofed, with arched portals and mull- 
ioned windows ; splendid Gothic churches are there, 
rich in external architecture, and containing ex- 
quisite carvings and Byzantine pictures ; it has 
palaces and mansions inhabited to-day by families 
whose knightly ancestors built them centuries ago. 
The Castle, or Reichsveste, built on a rock, wiih its 
three towers, seems to be keeping watch over the 
country around ; while the city walls, with their 
numerous turrets, and the four arched gate-ways 
with their lofty watch-towers give the whole place 
an air of great antiquity, and make even the 
matter-of-fact traveler of to-day indulge in fanciful 
dreams of the long ago, in which Diirer walked 
those streets, and fed his rich fancy by gazing on 
those same beauties of Nature, Architecture, and 

It is probable that in Wohlgemuth's studio Diirer 
did little but apprentice work on the master's 
pictures. At all events, very few of his own draw- 
ings of that time exist. In 1490 he painted a 
portrait of his father, now in Florence, which was 
rarely, perhaps never, surpassed by him in his 
later years. The apprenticeship ended, Diirer 
traveled and studied four years, — a time of which 
we have very little accurate knowledge, — and in 
1494 he settled himself as a painter and engraver 
in his native city. 

In the same year, Diirer was married to Agnes 
Frey. It would seem, from his own words in his 
diary, that the match was made by the parents of 
the young people. It has often been said that she 
was a great scold and made him very unhappy ; 
but more recent and careful research shows that 
this story rests upon very slight foundation, and 
nothing in Diirer's own writings would indicate any 
unhappiness in his home. Agnes Diirer was a very 
handsome woman ; but, though several portraits 
are called by her name, we have no positive knowl- 

8 4 .] 


2 79 

edge that her husband ever made a portrait of her. 
It was in the same year (1494) of his settlement 
and marriage that he was made a member of the 
guild of painters at Nuremburg. Thus, when 
twenty-three years old, he had studied, made 
his student's journey, and was honorably estab- 
lished in his native city. 

Albert Diirer is more famous and more widely 
known as an engraver than as a painter. His first 
copper-plate engraving was made in 1497, and from 
that time he executed numerous works of this kind. 
The first impressions from his early engravings are 
now sought with great eagerness by connoisseurs 
and collectors. One of the first was " St. Jerome's 
Penance," a good impression of which was sold a 
few years ago for five hundred dollars. In 149S 
Diirer published his first series of wood-cuts illus- 
trating the Apocalypse of St. John. These cuts 
marked a new era in wood engraving, and showed 
what possibilities it contained. Before this time it 
had been a rude art, chiefly used by uneducated 
monks. There are one hundred and seventy-four 
wood-cuts attributed to Diirer. The other impor- 
tant series are the " Great and Little Passion," 
showing the sufferings of Christ, and the " Life 
of the Virgin." 

There has been much dispute at various times as 
to whether the master executed his plates with his 
own hands ; it would seem to be the most reason- 
able conclusion that he did the work himself upon 
his earliest plates, but that, later, he must have 
allowed his assistants to perform the mechanical 
labor after his designs. 

Many of Diirer's engravings would seem very 
ugly to you ; and, indeed, to many well-trained 
critics there is little to admire in his subjects or his 
mode of presenting them. He often chose such 
scenes as remind us only of death, sorrow, and sin. 
Again, his grotesque and fantastic humor was 
shown ; and nothing more wild and unusual could 
be imagined than some of his fancies which he 
made almost immortal through his great artistic 
power. A wood-cut called the " Triumphal Arch 
of Maximilian" is two and' a half feet high and 
nine feet wide ; it was composed of ninety-two 
blocks, and all the remarkable events in the 
Emperor's life are illustrated in it, as well as many 
symbolical figures and pictures expressive of his 
praise, nobility, and power. 

It is said that, while this engraving was being 
finished by the engraver Rosch, the Emperor drove 
often to sec it. On one occasion several of Rosch's 
pet cats ran into the presence of the sovereign, and 
from this incident arose the proverb, "A cat may 
look at a king." 

Of his copper-plate engravings, some of the 
more important are ''The Nativity," ''The Great 

and the Little Horse," " Melancholy," and "The 
Knight and Death." The last is the most celebrated 
of all, and no one can say exactly what it means. It 
shows a knight in full panoply, who rides through 
a rocky defile — Satan is pursuing him and clutch- 
ing after him, while Death is at his side and holds 
up an hour-glass. Some interpreters say that the 
Knight is a wicked one, whom Satan owns, and 
Death warns to repent ; others give the Knight a 
name, and several men of the time arc mentioned 
as being in Diirer's mind ; and some say that he 
stands for Diirer himself, when overcome by temp- 
tation and fear. But let it mean what it may, it is 
a wonderful work, and Kugler says: "I believe I 
do not exaggerate when I particularize this print 
as the most important work which the fantastic 
spirit of German art has ever produced." 

It has been said that Diirer invented the process 
of etching ; it is more probable that he perfected 
an older discovery ; very few of his etchings remain 
in existence. 

As a sculptor, Diirer executed some remarkable 
works in ivory, boxwood, and stone ; he also designed 
some excellent medals. In the British Museum 
there is a relief, seven and a half by five and a half 
inches in size, which was bought about eighty 
years ago for two thousand five hundred dollars. 
It is in cream-colored stone, and represents the 
birth of St. John the Baptist. It was executed in 
1 5 10, and is very remarkable for its exquisite detail, 
which was doubtless a result of his early training 
as a goldsmith, when he learned to do very exact 
and delicate work. His carvings are seen in vari- 
ous places in Europe, and prove that he might 
have succeeded as a sculptor had he chosen that 

Besides his family history and diary, Diirer wrote 
some poetry, but none of importance. His first 
noticeable literary work was " The Art of Mensura- 
tion," which was published in 1525, and was a suc- 
cessful book. He also wrote " Some Instruction in 
the Fortification of Cities, Castles, and Towns," 
but his greatest achievement as a writer was the 
" Four Books of Human Proportion." It was not 
published until after his death, and its importance 
is shown by the fact that it passed through several 
German editions, besides three in Latin, and two 
each in Italian. French, Portuguese. Dutch, and 
English. He wrote, too, upon architecture, music, 
and various departments of painting, such as color, 
landscape, and so on. 

As an architect, we can say but little of Diirer : 
for while his writings prove that he had a good 
knowledge of architecture, he executed but few 
works in that department of art, and we have slight 
knowledge of these. It remains only to speak of 
his paintings, which are not numerous, but still 




exist in galleries in various parts of Europe. Many 
of them are portraits, the finest of which still 
remains in Nuremburg, though enormous sums 
have been offered for it. It represents Jerome 
Holzschuher, who was a remarkably strong man in 
character; it was painted in 1526, and retains its 
rich, vivid coloring: His portraits of his father and 
of himself are very interesting, and all his works of 
this sort are strong, rich pictures. Among his 
religious pictures the '"Feast of Rose Garlands" 
is very prominent. It was painted in Venice, 111 
the yeat 1506. Diirer worked seven months on this 
picture, and by it contradicted those who had said 
that "he was a good engraver, but knew not how 
to deal with colors." It brought him great fame, 
and was sold from the church where it was origi- 
nally placed to the Emperor Rudolf II.. who 
had it borne on men's shoulders from Venice to 
Prague, in order to avoid the injuries which might 
come from other modes of removing it. In 1782. 
it was sold by Joseph II., and has since been in 
the monastery of Strabow, at Prague ; it has been 
much restored and is seriously injured. In the 
background, on the right, are the figures of Diirer 
and Pirkheimer, who remained the friend of his 
age as of his childhood. 

An earlier work is the " Adoration of the Kings," 
in the Tribune of the Uffizi. at Florence ; this is 
one of his best paintings. The years from 1507 to 
1526 were the most fruitful of good work in the 
life of this master, and in 1526 he painted two 
pictures which, for some reasons, are the most 
interesting of all he did. They were the result of 
his best thought, and may be called the first com- 
plete work of art produced by Protestantism. They 
represent the Apostles John and Peter, Mark and 
Paul. He put upon them inscriptions from the 
Gospels and the Epistles, urging the danger of 
departing from the Word of God or believing in 
false prophets; and the figures, bearing the Script- 
ures in their hands, seem to be the faithful guar- 
dians of God's law. 

There is an old tradition that these figures rep- 
resent the Four Temperaments : thus, in the first, 
St. Peter with a hoary head and reposeful air. bend- 
ing over the book in the hands of St. John, repre- 
sents the phlegmatic temperament, ever tranquil 
in its reflections; — St. John, with his earnest, 
thoughtful face stands for the melancholic temper- 
ament, which pushes its inquiries to the profound- 
est depths; — these two represent the inward life, 
that from which comes conviction. In the second 
picture the effect of this upon action and daily life is 
shown : St. Mark, in the background, represents 
the sanguine temperament ; he. looks around ap- 
pealingly and hopefully, as if urging others to 
search the Scriptures for the same good which he 

has found in them ; while St. Paul stands in front 
bearing the book and the sword, looking severely 
over his shoulder, as if ready to defend the 
Word and punish by the sword any who should 
show it disrespect ; he stands for the choleric 

These two pictures are executed in a masterly 
manner — there is a sublimit) of expression in 
them, a majestic repose and perfect simplicity in 
the movement, and in the folds of the drapery — all 
is in keeping. The color, too, is warm and true 
to nature ; no touch of the fantastic is felt ; in these 
pictures, Albert Diirer reached the summit of his 
power and stood on a plane with the great masters 
of the world. 

When they were completed, Diirer presented 
them to the council of Nuremburg as a remem- 
brance of himself as an artist, and as teaching his 
fellow-citizens an earnest lesson as was suited to 
the stormy time in which they lived. The coun- 
cil accepted the gift, placed the pictures in the 
council house and sent a present of money to 
Diirer and his wife. A century later, the Elector 
Maximilian of Bavaria determined to have these 
panels at any cost ; he bribed and threatened, and 
at last the council of Nuremburg, afraid of his an- 
ger, sent the pictures to Munich after having copies 
made by John Fischer, upon which were placed 
the original inscriptions, as it was thought best to 
cut them off from Diirer's own work, lest thev 
should not please a Catholic Prince. So it hap- 
pened that the originals are in the Munich gallery, 
and the copies in the town picture gallery now in 
the Rathhaus of Nuremburg. 

I shall not stay to describe more of his paintings, 
for I wish to resume the account of Diirer's life. 
As stated, it was in 1494 that he married and set- 
tled in his native city. About 1500, Willibald 
Pirkheimer returned from military service and re- 
newed his friendship with Diirer. At his house 
the artist met many eminent men — scholars and 
reformers; and while he was admired and appreci- 
ated for his own genius and accomplishments, he 
himself gained much' greater and better knowl- 
edge of the world in this society than his previous 
narrow life had given him. 

In 1502, Diirer's father died and the son quaintly 
and tenderly related the closing scenes of the old 
man's life, and mourned his own loss. Within the 
next two vears Diirer took his mother and his 
youngest brother to his own home, while his 
brother Andreas Mas thus left free to go on a 
student journey as a goldsmith. 

In 1505. after several years of continuous indus- 
try, Diirer made a journey to Venice ; he arrived 
there when Giovanni Bellini was the leader of the 
Venetian artists and Carpaccio was painting his 

iB8 4 .] 





Vol. XL— 19. 



pictures of St. Ursula. Titian and Giorgione 
were then becoming more and more famous, and 
before Diirer left their city he was employed at 
the same time with them in painting for the Fon- 
daco dei 'Tedeschi, or the company of Germans 
in Venice. The letters which Diirer wrote at this 
time to his friend Pirkheimer are of much interest ; 
during the Thirty Years' War in Germany, these 
letters were walled up in the Imhoff mansion, and 
were discovered at a much-later time. 

It is said that Bellini was much pleased with 
Diirer's painting, especially with his manner of 
representing hair. One day he begged the German 
to give him the brush which he used for it ; upon 
this, Diirer took one of his common brushes and 
painted a long tress of woman's hair, while Bellini 
looked on admiringly and declared that had he 
not seen it he could not have believed it. Diirer 
wrote of the kindness he received from gentle- 
men, but said that the artists were not so favorable 
to him. He was very sensitive to their criticisms ; 
and when he had finished his Rose Garlands, wrote 
that the Doge and the Patriarch had been to his 
studio to see it ; that he had contradicted those 
who said that he could not use colors, and added, 
" There is no better picture of the Virgin Mary in 
the land, because all the artists praise it, as well 
as the nobility. They say they have never seen a 
more sublime, a more charming painting." 

Pirkheimer was constantly urging Diirer to re- 
turn home, and Agnes Diirer was very unhappy at 
the long absence of her husband. The artist 
dreaded his return. He said, "Oh, how I shall 
freeze after this sunshine ! Here, I am a gentle- 
man — at home, only a parasite ! " He was forced 
to refuse many commissions that were offered him, 
as well as a government pension of two hundred 
ducats ; but he thought it his duty to return to 
Nuremburg. On his way, he visited Bologna ; and 
through pictures which he left there, Raphael's at- 
tention was turned to him in such a manner that 
an intimate correspondence and an exchange of 
pictures occurred between him and Diirer. It 
was a fortunate thing for the interest of paint- 
ing that Diirer did not remain in Italy ; had he 
done so, he would, without doubt, have modified 
his striking individuality, and his strength and 
quaintness would have been lost to German art. 

From 1507, Diirer was the teacher of many 
students in painting and engraving, and his studio 
was a hive of busy workmen. During this time the 
artist was at the height of his productiveness, and 
worked at painting, engraving, and carving; dur- 
ing seven years from this date, besides his pictures, 
he made more than a hundred wood-cuts and forty- 
eight engravings and etchings. These last were 
very salable. The religious excitement of the time 

made a great demand for his engravings of the 
Passion, the Virgin and Saints; and his income 
was so increased as to enable him to live very 

In 1509, Diirer finished the " Coronation of the 
Virgin" for the merchant, Heller. It was an im- 
portant picture, now known only by a copy at 
Nuremburg, as the original was burned in the 
palace at Munich about 1673. There was some 
dispute about the price, two hundred florins, and 
Diirer wrote to Heller, " I should become a beggar 
by this means ; henceforward I will stick to my en- 
graving; and, if I had done so before, I should be 
richer by a thousand florins than I am to-day." 
This seems to explain the reason of his cuts being 
so much more numerous than his paintings. 

The house in which Diirer lived is now pre- 
served as public property in Nuremburg. It is 
occupied by a society of artists, who guard it from 
injury ; and a street which passes it is called Albert 
Diirer's street. Here he lived in much comfort, 
though not luxury, as we may know from a mem- 
orandum which he wrote before his death, in 
which he said : 

" Regarding the belongings I have amassed by my own handi- 
work, I have not had a great chance to become rich, and have had 
plenty of losses ; having lent without being repaid, and my work- 
men have not reckoned with me; also my agent at Rome died, after 
using up my property. * * - Still, we have good house furnish- 
ing, clothing, costly things in earthenware, professional fittings-up, 
bed-fumishings, chests, and cabinets ; and my stock of colors is 
worth one hundred guldens." 

In 1512, Durer was first employed by the Em- 
peror Maximilian, whose life was pictured in the 
great print of the " Triumphal Arch." Itis said that 
this sovereign made Diirer a noble ; and we know 
he granted the artist a pension of two hundred 
dollars a year, which was not always promptly 
paid. Diirer related that, one day, when he was 
working on a sketch for the Emperor, his Majesty 
tried to make a drawing himself, using a charcoal- 
crayon ; but he had great trouble on account of its 
breaking, and complained that he could do nothing 
with it. The artist took the crayon from his hand, 
saying, "This is my sceptre, your Majesty," and 
then taught the sovereign how to use it. 

Of the death of his mother Diirer wrote a par- 
ticular account, from which I give an extract : 

" Now you must know that in the year 15T3, on a Tuesday in 
Cross-week, my poor, unhappy mother, whom I had taken under 
iny charge two years after my father's death, because she was then 
quite poor, and who had lived with me for nine years, was taken 
deathly sick on one morning early, so that we had to break open her 
room ; for we knew not, as sire could not get up, what to do. * * * 
And her custom was to go often to church ; and she always punished 
me when I did not act rightly; and she always took great care to 
keep me "and my brothers from sin ; and whether I went in or out, 
her constant word was, ' In the name of Christ ' ; and with great 
diligence she constantly gave us holy exhortations, and had great 
care over our souls." 



She lived still a year, and the artist wrote : 

" I prayed for her and had such great grief for her that I can never 
express. * And she was sixty-three years old when she died ; 

and I buried her honorably, according to my means. * * * 
And in her death she looked still more lovely than she was in her 

In 1520, Diirer, with his wife and her maid, 
Susanna, made the tour of the Netherlands. His 


principal object in this journey was to see the new 
emperor, Charles V., and obtain a confirmation 
of the pension which Maximilian had granted him 
and, if possible, the appointment of court-painter 
also. This tour was made when there was great 
wealth and prosperity all through the Low Coun- 
tries, and Diirer's journal was filled with wonder 
at the prosperity and magnificence which he saw. 
At Antwerp he met Ouintin Matsys, of whom we 
have already spoken, and other Flemish painters, 
and writes : 

" On St. Oswald's Day, the painters invited me to their hall, 
with my wife and maid: and everything, there, was of silver and 
other costly ornamentation, and extremely costly viands. There 
were also their wives there ; and when I was conducted to the 
table, all the people stood up on each side, as if I had been a great 
lord. There were amongst them also many persons of distinction, 
who all bowed low, and in the most humble manner testified their 
pleasure at seeing me, and they said they would do all in their 
power to give me pleasure. And, as I sat at table, there came in 
the messenger of the Rath of Antwerp, wrui presented mc with four 
tankards of wine in the name of the magistrates : and he said that 

they desired tn honor me with this, and that I should have their 
good-will. * And for a long time we were very merry 

together, until quite late in the night; then they accompanied us 
home with torches in the most honorable manner, and they begged 
us to accept their good-will, and said they would do whatever I 
desired that might be of assistance to me. 

While *;it Antwerp, Diirer met many notable 
people, and painted some portraits ; he also sold 
many engravings, and all his business matters are 
recorded in his journal. The Portuguese consul 
sent a large quantity of sweetmeats and a green 
parrot to Agnes Diirer, and her husband in return 
presented the consul with several score of engrav- 
ings. It would be a curious thing to know where 
these prints are now, and we wonder how much 
the consul then prized what would now be of such 
great value. He went to Brussels with Tomasin 
Florianus, and was there entertained with great 
honors, and was well received by the Regent 
Margaret, who promised to interest herself in hi 
behalf at the imperial court. Of this visit he wrote 

"And 1 have seen King Charles's house at Brussels, with it 
fountains, labyrinth, and park. It gave me the greatest pleasure 
and a more delightful thing, and more like a paradise, I have never be- 
fore seen. * * At Brussels, there is a town hall, built of hewn 
stone, with a splendid transparent tower. * * * I also have been 
into the Nassau house, which is built in such a costly style and so 
beautifully ornamented. And I saw the two beaulifui large rooms, 
and all the costly things in the house everywhere, and also the 
great bed in which fifty men might lie; and I have also seen the 
big stone which fell in a thunder-storm in a field. * * Also I 
have seen the thing which has been brought to the King from the new 
Golden Land (Mexico), a sun of gold a fathom broad, and a silver 
moon just as big Likewise, two rooms full of armor; likewise, all 
kinds of arms, harness, and wonderful missiles, very strange clothing, 
bed-gear, and all kind of the most wonderful things for man's use, 
that are as beautiful to behold as they are wonderful. These things 
are all so costly, that they have been valued at 10^,000 gulden. And 
I have never, in all the days of my life, seen anything that has so 
much rejoiced my heart as these things. For I have seen among 
them wonderfully artistic things, and I have wondered at the subtle 
talents of men in foreign lands." 

I must make one more quotation from his jour- 
nal, which describes a brilliant scene : 

1 saw a great procession from Our Lady's Church at Antwerp, 
when the whole town was assembled, artisans and people of every 
rank, every one dressed in the most costly manner, according to his 
station. Every class and every guild had its badge, by which it 
might be recognized ; large and costly tapers were also borne by 
some of them. There were also long silver trumpets of the old 
Frankish fashion. There were also many German pipers and 
drummers, who piped and drummed their loudest. Also I saw in 
the street, marching in a line in regular order, with certain distances 
between, the goldsmiths, painters, stone-masons, embroiderers, 
sculptors, joiners, carpenters, sailors, fish- mongers, * * and 

alt kinds of artisans who arc useful in producing the necessaries 
of life. In the same way there were the shopkeepers and merchants, 
and their clerks. After these came the marksmen, with firelocks, 
bows, and cross-bows ; some on horseback, and some on foot. After 
that came the City Guards; and at last a mighty and beautiful 
throng of different nations and religions orders, superbly costumed, 
and each distinguished from the other very piously. I remarked 
in this procession a troop of widows who lived by their labor. 
They all had white linen cloths covering their heads, and reaching 
down to their feet, very seemly to behold. Behind them I saw 
many brave persons, and the canons of Our Lady's Church, with all 







the clergy and bursars*. There were brought along 

many wagons, with moving ships, and other things. Then fol- 
lowed the Prophets, all in order: the New Testament, showing the 
Salutation of the Angel; the three Holy Kings on their camels, 
and other rare wonders very beautifully arranged. * * At the 

last came a great dragon, led by Si. Margaret and Iter maidens, who 
were very pretty; also St. George, with his squire, a very hand- 
some Courlandert. Also a great many boys and girls, dressed in the 
most costly and ornamental manner, according to the fashion of 
different countries, rode in this troop, and represented as many 
saints. This procession from beginning to end was more than two 
hours passing by our house : and there were so many things that I 
could never write them all down, even in a book, and so I leave it 

It is very curious to note how much the grand 
processions of two hundred and fifty years ago in 
Antwerp resembled those we see now on great oc- 
casions there. 

Diirer went to Aix-la-Chapelle and witnessed the 
coronation of the Emperor Charles V. and saw all 
the relics and the wonders of this capital of Char- 
lemagne. He next visited Cologne, and at last, in 
November, he succeeded in attaining the object for 
which, first of all, he had made his journey, which 
was the confirmation by the Emperor of the pen- 
sion which Maximilian had granted him and his 
appointment as court-painter. He returned to 
Antwerp and made several other excursions, one 
of which was to Zealand, a province of Holland 
bordering on the North Sea, to see a whale which 
had been stranded on the coast, but before Diirer 
reached the place the tide had carried the huge 
creature to sea again. 

And so the journal continues to give accounts 01 
sight-seeings and pleasurings, interrupted at times 
by some work at his profession. He also records 
his expenses, the gifts, too, which he made and 
those he received, until finally he returned to Nu- 
remburg late in the year 1521. 

Two very famous men had died while he was 
traveling, Martin Luther and Raphael. Diirer 
tried hard to get some drawings by the great artist, 
and we do not know whether or not he succeed- 
ed. The notes in his journal at the time of Lu- 
ther's death are very interesting and prove that he 
had much sympathy with Protestants, although it 
is believed that he remained a Roman Catholic all 
his life. He wrote : 

" He was a man enlightened by the Holy Ghost and a follower of 
the true Christian faith. He has suffered much for Christ's sake 
and because he has rebuked the unchristian papacy which strives 
against the freedom of Christ with its heavy burdens of human laws; 
* * * never were any people so horribly burdened with ordinances 
as us poor people by the Romish see ; " * * O God. is Luther 
dead ? who will henceforth explain to us so clearly the Holy t Jospel ? 
O all pious Christian men, bewail with me this God-inspired man, 
and pray God to send us another enlightened teacher." 

When Diirer reached home he found that a great 
religious change had occurred there, and during 
the rest of his life he made no more pictures of 

the Virgin Mary ; he made two engravings of St. 
Christopher bearing the child Jesus safely through 
the floods, as symbols of his belief that faithful men 
would carry true Christianity through all troubles 
and bring it out triumphant at last. Nuremburg 
was the first free imperial city of the Empire 
that declared itself Protestant ; Diirer's friend, 
Pirkheimer, was one of those whom the Pope 
excommunicated. It is most fortunate that the 
change of religion in this grand old town was made 
so quietly and moderately that there was no de- 
struction of the churches or of the art-treasures in 
which it was so rich. Many of them remain there 
to this day. 

Diirer had contracted a disease in Zealand, which 
seems to have been a sort of low fever ; it under- 
mined his health and never left him for the rest of 
his life, and on account of this he did much less 
work than ever before. He paid much attention to 
the publishing of his writings, and made a few por- 
traits and the grand pictures of the Apostles which 
I have described to you. 

One of the results of his foreign tour afforded 
much entertainment to his friends and to the 
scholars of Nuremburg ; he had brought home a 
remarkable collection of curiosities — all sorts of 
rare things from various parts of Europe, India, 
and even from America. He also gave to his 
friends many presents that he had brought for 
them ; and his return, with his commission as court- 
painter and an enormous amount of curious lug- 
gage, made him a person of much consequence in 
the Franconian capital. Charles V. spent very 
little time in Nuremburg and practically required 
small service from Diirer; it was not until after 
Diirer's death that the Emperor became so fond 
of having his portrait painted, and then Titian held 
the position which had been made vacant by 
Diirer's decease. 

Diirer did not become rich, and an extract from 
a letter which he wrote to the Council of Nurem- 
burg, in 1524, has a sad feeling in it. After ex- 
plaining that he had laid by one thousand florins, 
which he wished the Council to take and pay him 
a comfortable rate of interest, he says : 

"Your Wisdoms know that I have always been obedient, willing, 
and diligent in all things done for your Wisdoms and for the com- 
mon state, and for other persons of the Rath (Council), and that 
the state has always had my help, art, and work, whenever they 
were needed, and that without payment rather than for money : for 
1 can write with truth, that, during the thirty years that I have had 
a house in this town, I have not had five hundred guldens' worth 
of work from ic, and what I have had has been poor and mean, 
and I have not gained the fifth part for it that it was worth : but all 
that I have earned, which God knows has only been by hard toil, 
has been from princes. lords, and other foreign persons. Also. I 
have expended all my earnings from foreigners in this town. Also, 
your Honors doubtless know that, on account of the many works I 

* Bursars were treasurers or cash-keepers of colleges or convents. 

t Courland is one of the Baltic provinces of Russia, largely inhabited by Germans. 




had done for him, the late Emperor Maximilian, of praiseworthy 
memory, out of his own imperial liberality, granted me an exemption 
from the rates and taxes of this town, which, however, I voluntarily 
gave up, when I was spoken to about it by the Elders of t